


The Needs of the Two

by Eireann



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Courtroom Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 80,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26541886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eireann/pseuds/Eireann
Summary: In the aftermath of the Expanse, the exhausted crew of the Enterprise think they can relax.  An enemy thinks otherwise.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Original Female Character(s), T'Pol/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 123
Kudos: 37
Collections: Reed's Armory Collection





	1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jayne_Err](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayne_Err/gifts).



> Star Trek and all its intellectual property belongs to Paramount/CBS. No infringement intended, no money made.
> 
> Author's Note: Without naming names, I wish to give a HUGE thank you to the two people without whom this story would never have been possible. You know who you are...

* * *

The orders were unequivocal.

He stared at them. His mouth, habitually described by his few surviving detractors as tighter than a trap, compressed still further.

_“Archer is dangerous to us._

_“Get rid of him.”_


	2. Chapter 1: T'Pol

“I have already made arrangements.” 

T’Pol spoke calmly. That was what Vulcans did. Raising the voice was unseemly and undignified.

Her new husband was as aware of this as she was, but nevertheless it seemed for one moment that he was tempted to raise his voice regardless.

“We are man and wife.”

“I am aware of that.” The only thing of which she was more aware was the existence of Commander Tucker, already on the way back to the spaceport. And, as though it were her own, of his pain.

“Then you will be equally aware that it is usual for a new husband and wife to spend some time with one another in order to lay the foundations of their relationship. Your ship will not be expecting you back until the end of your leave, and my family has already generously agreed that you will be allowed to remain on _Enterprise_ for the time being, rather than remaining here for the year as the original agreement stipulated.”

“I do not perceive how you could regard anything about our relationship as ‘usual’, Koss.” The blade of her bitterness glinted momentarily. “Let us be frank: I have been coerced into marrying you because it is the only way my mother can be reinstated to her position at the Science Academy.

“When your _pon farr_ comes I will return home to do my duty. I will be your wife and bear your children. But as for my present absence from duty aboard _Enterprise_ , I believe that my mental recovery will be better assisted by a period of mediation at Mount Seleya, and I have already arranged to be received there.”

How flat and inexpressive his face was, compared to... And yet she observed the slight narrowing of his eyes, the hardening of his mouth, and rode on before he could speak.

“The wedding ceremony is sufficient to declare us husband and wife under Vulcan law,” she continued deliberately. “I see no reason for putting off my departure.”

The ‘reason’, of course, was that it was normal for newly married Vulcan couples to sleep together, and for all that Koss’s desires would be under the strict governance proper to all emotions, she knew quite well that a large part of his determination to disregard her earlier dismissal of their betrothal was that he wanted her sexually. Much of the rest of it was his dislike of being thwarted and his even greater dislike of Vulcan tradition being flouted, but there was no doubt that he had fully expected to share her bed tonight.

Her exposure to Trellium-D in the Expanse had fatally compromised her ability to deal with emotion the way a good Vulcan should. Her immobile face and iron will had served her to go through with the marriage ceremony showing nothing of what she felt, but now, raw with not only her own suffering, she saw no reason why she should submit with nothing but resentment to her husband’s possession of her body – his prize for colluding in blackmail.

He exhaled. “Then as a good husband should, I will wish you success in recovering the appropriate mental stability. Maybe when you have had the help necessary to put events into their proper perspective you will realize that it is always the wisest and most logical course to co-operate with greater power than your own.”

The threat was thinly veiled. She inclined her head and swept past him, ignoring it.

The Starfleet B4 bag was gone from the guest bed. She had never seen before how empty the sparse and elegant décor of a Vulcan room could look.

T’Les was speaking to some of the guests who had attended the wedding. Her face seemed lighter, as though the mind behind it was freed of a burden, but when she glanced across at her daughter a look shot across it – a look of guilty complicity.

_She knows._

There was no point in repining.

It took little time to re-pack her own holdall. There was nothing she wished to take with her, after all; from this point onwards, all her energies must be directed towards dealing with the world as it was.

And forgetting the world as it could have been.


	3. Chapter 2: T'Pol

“You have a visitor, child.”

Speech, when she had put so much effort into closing down everything that could interfere with the strict disciplines of the monastery, came as a shock. She blinked up into the wrinkled face of the priestess, its expression carefully neutral.

Ridiculously, one name sprang to mind. With a pang she dismissed it; what, after witnessing her marriage to another man, would Commander Tucker possibly have to say to her now? Moreover, the period of meditation in this most sacred of Vulcan sites had honed her perception. If a Human Starfleet officer had been so lost to all decorum as to demand to break her self-imposed isolation here, the priestess would have been radiating disapproval, however great her command of her expression.

Koss, then. 

Did he care enough?

Or was he deluded enough, arrogant enough, to believe she might have thought better of her decision to begin their marriage on the worst footing possible – by declaring to the world that she found him so intolerable that she would not even spend her wedding night with him?

Had he conceived some idea of trying to mend matters, to leave her with a better idea of him rather than the poisonous rancor of their wedding day? For better or worse, they were bound together. Even the strict control of emotion could not ameliorate a marriage where partners were tied together in mutual loathing – and whether she wished it or not, the after-effects of her reckless experimentation with Trellium-D had forever compromised her ability to conform to Vulcan standards of restraint.

“I will come.” She rose from her cushion, but did not blow out the candle; she had nothing to say to Koss and he could have nothing to say that she wished to hear. In meditation she had at least contrived to find a measure of serenity, and the sooner she had heard her husband out the sooner she could return to this quiet, bare cell and resume her pursuit of a peace that had eluded her ever since her ill-advised attempt to meddle with a substance she had already known was fatal to her species’ mental processes.

She had become accustomed already to the quiet here. No-one spoke unless it was absolutely necessary, and then in measured voices with the minimum of words. The sound of her sandals on the bare flooring was the only thing that broke the hush, while the red light of the setting sun (40 Eridani A, as it was named in _Enterprise_ ’s star charts) lanced through the tall slit windows high above and illuminated the total lack of decoration on the walls she passed. Ornament was a distraction, and the life here was simple in the extreme. Even the food was the bare minimum necessary to keep the body functioning correctly, solely because a disordered body distracted the mind.

The visitors’ room was near the entrance, and the size of its windows admitted so much extra sunlight that on opening the door she blinked, momentarily blinded by the brilliance.

Her visitor had been standing by one of the windows, looking out across the red vista of Vulcan, and though she saw enough to confirm her guess that he was Vulcan, the style of his beautifully tailored but somber robes told her she had been completely wrong as to his identity.

“Soval!” She was so taken aback that for a moment she did not even respond when he offered her the traditional gesture of greeting, the _ta’al._

“T’Pol. It is a pleasure to see you.” He would have noted her hesitation, of course; he noticed everything; but he did not comment on it.

“I thought you were on Earth,” she remarked, when the two of them were seated. “Has the debriefing regarding the _Enterprise_ ’s activities in the Expanse concluded satisfactorily?”

Now it was his turn to hesitate. “It has – concluded,” he said at last, heavily. “I returned to Vulcan in order to lay my findings before the High Command.”

A finger of apprehension touched her. “Is there a problem?”

He looked at her intently. “As Vulcan’s ambassador to Earth it was my duty to represent Vulcan’s interests, particularly during the investigation into what happened to the _Seleya._ ”

 _... Heat ... hate ... horror ... madness ... death._ From their cage in the back of her mind, the memories howled and gibbered.

“Your personal logs were of great assistance in illuminating exactly what happened there. Captain Archer was naturally reluctant to have his version of events questioned.”

“I have already noted that my judgment during those events was impaired by exposure to the trellium coating on the _Seleya_ ’s hull,” she said stiffly. “Whatever I recorded should be viewed with that caveat in mind.”

“It was taken into consideration. Personally, when the deliberations were concluded, I myself was satisfied that the captain did his best in an extremely difficult situation.

“However, there are some influential members of the High Command who are less satisfied with the verdict. Some of them had family members who served aboard the _Seleya_ , and are demanding that the Starfleet officers involved be brought to trial for their part in the deaths of those on board who might otherwise have had a chance of survival and recovery.”

She swallowed. Her mouth was suddenly as dry as the Forge. “Doctor Phlox discovered that the trellium exposure levels were already beyond fatal – they would neither have survived nor recovered. I am sure the Starfleet investigation dealt with that.

“As for a trial, Corporal Hawkins was killed in one of the Spheres later in the voyage and can hardly be called as a witness. There may well be a recording of his debriefing after the incident aboard the _Seleya_. Given the importance of the event, any such entry in the MACOs’ logs would surely have been produced as evidence during the Starfleet hearing. Since no grounds for proceeding against the captain were found, I would imagine the corporal reported fairly and honestly what happened.”

“I am told the request to examine a copy of the corporal’s report has already been submitted to General Casey.” His voice was perfectly even. “To the best of my recollection there was nothing whatsoever prejudicial in it, but the High Command wish to examine the records in person, to verify that nothing has been overlooked.”

There was a stone flask of water on the table between them, and she picked it up and sloshed some of its contents into one of the waiting cups. Her hand was far less steady than she would have wished. “Then if this is to be taken to its logical conclusion, the High Command are determined to discover grounds for myself, Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed to face charges. But I fail to see what they could be.”

“There are those who have – or say they have – difficulty in believing that Captain Archer did all he could to rescue the _Seleya_ ’s crew. It has not been forgotten that at the time of _Enterprise_ ’s launch, Captain Archer harbored an intense resentment against Vulcan. He made no secret of his belief that we had held back help we could have given his father so that the NX Project could have been completed in time for Henry Archer to have seen the Warp Five engine in action. 

“As for Lieutenant Reed, you yourself accused him of deliberately misaligning the actuator circuits to overload the locking mechanism. He could conceivably have been acting on the captain’s orders, or at the very least acting in a way he had reason to believe was in keeping with his captain’s intentions.”

“The captain would have given no such orders, and if he had, Lieutenant Reed would not have obeyed them.”

He paused for a moment, and then spoke with reluctance. “Events later in the voyage not only cast doubt on Captain Archer’s moral probity, but also proved Lieutenant Reed’s willingness to comply with orders of dubious legality.”

“They had no _choice_.” Cold despair had settled in her belly. “We were sent out to save not only Earth but Vulcan, Tellar, Andoria and every other world the Expanse would have swallowed up! It was not a time for moral considerations to dictate decision-making!”

He set down the PADD he had been holding. “There is no doubt that aboard the _Seleya_ the circumstances were such that all of you were legitimately in fear for your lives. But as I am led to understand, the High Command is far from satisfied that alternative courses of action were given sufficient consideration, or even considered at all. And in view of the captain’s well-known resentment against Vulcan, the High Command feels that it has no option but to launch an investigation.”

“Then I will also be brought under investigation,” she said slowly. “I was one of the boarding party.”

A pause.

“It would appear you _could_ be indicted as an accessory. Though the influence of the trellium on your mental state could enable a defense attorney to plead insanity.” Another, longer pause, and she watched his mouth twist as though his next words were bitter to the taste. “I have been instructed to advise you there is always the option for you to become a witness for the prosecution, which would very much incline the court to view your case sympathetically.”

She stood up. “I am to testify against Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed?” She could not keep the incredulity from her voice. “After _Enterprise_ completed the mission, at huge personal risk and loss, the High Command truly want to have them prosecuted? With _my assistance?_ ”

“It would appear that there are those who do. And unfortunately, their voices carry weight. Most unfortunately of all, Administrator V’Las is sympathetic to their grievance.”

“Have Starfleet been informed?”

He too rose, and moved to the window, where he stood looking out. “Not yet,” he replied. “It was felt best that the arrangements should be finalized beforehand.”

She watched him for a few moments and then sat down and spoke with finality. “Then you may return to the High Command and tell them that they should prepare to indict me along with the others. Regardless of what I felt and wrote at the time, I exonerate Captain Archer of any intention whatsoever of killing the crew of the _Seleya_. On numerous occasions during our voyages he showed compassion and concern for the wellbeing of other species, and I have no doubt whatsoever that he did everything he possibly could to rescue a ship’s complement who were past saving.

“As for Lieutenant Reed, he is an exemplary officer who did his best in a situation of extreme difficulty and danger, dealing with equipment with which he was unfamiliar. I cannot even be sure that, given my mental state at the time, I gave him the correct instructions. It would be a travesty of justice even to accuse either of them of deliberately causing the deaths of those they had come to save, and I will testify to that effect.”

She waited for the agreement.

None came.

“But this not _about_ justice,” she said slowly as realization dawned. “This is a vendetta!”

The quirk of distaste told her she had guessed correctly, but he was not done. With a deep sigh, he came back and sat down. “As I said earlier, there are those who do not wish the killing of their clansmen to go unpunished. And they are prepared to use whatever means they must to ensure that it does not happen.”

“Regardless of their wishes, the truth remains the truth,” T’Pol replied at once. “Captain Archer’s intention from the outset was to attempt to rescue anyone from the _Seleya_ who could be saved. He placed himself as well as others at great personal risk in that attempt. It was not until he was forced to realize he could save neither the crew nor the ship that he gave the orders he did.

“At the end, it was inevitable if we ourselves were to escape. But it was not until every other avenue had been exhausted that Captain Archer accepted that for the safety of his own crew, that decision had to be taken.”

“That is what Starfleet’s investigation concluded. And the Vulcan delegation agreed with the verdict.” He was looking down at the PADD, appearing to find its contents interesting.

She regarded him with perplexity. “Then I fail to understand why the High Command feel they may have grounds for a successful prosecution, however welcome it might be.”

The second bolt of realization was strong enough to jerk her upright in her seat. “They intend to try to _force me_ to testify against the captain,” she breathed.

His silence was all the confirmation she needed, and she drew in a breath that was close to a gasp. “And after taking part in the investigation – after drawing your own conclusion that there was no case to answer regarding the fate of the _Seleya_ – you are willing to go along with this?”

He lifted his head, and she was shocked by the pain in his face. “T’Pol, I do not have the influence to stop it. I have already been threatened because I protested. I was allowed to come here and talk to you in order to persuade you to save yourself … and others.

He continued, his voice hard with detestation. “Your mother was forced to resign from the Academy because she showed signs of espousing the Syrrannite creed. This is something the High Command are determined to stamp out, but Koss’s family had sufficient influence to ensure she was reinstated if you agreed to honour your betrothal to their son.

“Unfortunately, she has not shown herself willing to learn from her narrow escape. She has provided sufficient grounds for a prosecution, and that prosecution will take place … unless you co-operate.”


	4. Chapter 3: Langford

“I never feel quite as relaxed as I do here.”

“Then I’m sorry about that on one hand, and I’m complimented on the other.” Holly rested her head on one arm, bent and braced in support, and glanced down humorously at her guest. “And I’m glad that one of the ‘heroes of the Expanse’ feels he hasn’t outgrown the need for my company.”

He winced, exactly as she’d expected him to. “Please don’t use that expression.”

“Sweetie, I don’t even watch the news broadcasts and I know what they’ve been calling you. I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair of me.”

“It’s a load of bollocks.” He rolled over. It was noticeable that his bare torso was covered in lawn clippings, stuck to the skin where she’d soaked him with the watering hose earlier on. She wondered how many of his armoury staff would have recognised their fearsome disciplinarian department head as he’d bolted screaming around the garden trying to evade the spray and threatening her with everything short of disembowelment when she’d finally cornered him beside the woodshed and given him a thorough drenching.

Naturally, honour had to be satisfied by giving him the chance to exact his revenge. And expecting him to behave like an English gentleman and let her off with just a bit of a splash probably hadn’t been her best idea ever.

So that left them both soaking wet, and now they were sprawled side by side in the sunshine on the lawn, naked and unselfconscious as children.

“I ... needed... this.” He waved an encompassing arm. “I needed normality. You’ll never know how much. And I needed _you_.”

“You know you have a home here. Always. Whenever.” She leaned over and kissed him on the nose. “And when – if – you want to talk...”

“Not this time.” His eyes were closed against the bright sunlight. “Just for now, I want to leave the Expanse behind. In the past, where it belongs.”

Studying the new lines of exhaustion and bitterness chiselled into his face, she thought that might prove to be easier said than done. But just as she’d been back in the bad old days of his service with Section 31 she was here to be whatever he needed her to be – friend, counsellor, listening ear – and ultimately he had to show her his wounds before she could attempt to treat them. That might take time, as it had done in the past, and meanwhile she could imagine all too easily that the simple act of relaxation was something now so unfamiliar to him that it would take time even for him to believe it was possible.

“This is what it was all for,” he continued after a while. “Saving _this_ ... saving everything that made going on possible.”

For a moment it was difficult to speak, past the sudden lump in her throat. “I thought of you every day, sweetie,” she responded gently. “And for what it’s worth, I know you’re not a hero. You’re an ordinary man who was willing to put his life on the line, to take up the most enormous responsibility. That doesn’t make you glorious. It lets you hurt, lets you suffer. But when you’re _out there_ you can’t let that show, you can’t be human. And that must be the worst thing of all.”

He turned his head and pressed his face into her breast. “Thank you for the cushion,” he said almost inaudibly. The final gift she’d pressed on him when he left her house the last time: a white silk cushion that she’d made for him herself, with the White Rose appliquéd on it, and a sachet of dried lavender heads inside from the plants that lined the path of her front garden. He’d mentioned some while ago that he’d begun practising meditation as his second-in-command T’Pol did, and even apart from its function as a comfortable thing to sit on, the scent of lavender was known to aid relaxation. And when the news broke that _Enterprise_ was to go out in pursuit of the makers of the Weapon, how unutterably glad she’d been that he had it.

“I have some fresh lavender for you to put in it when you go back. It’s easy, the pouch is just tucked down one side. It has its own little zip.” She stroked his wet hair, remembering how desperately he’d resisted having her touch his head when he’d first come to her; now he didn’t even tense, and his breathing was slow and regular against her skin. “Oh, and maybe this evening when it’s a bit cooler you’ll help me pick some damsons. The squirrels will eat them if I don’t start harvesting them in the next few days.”

He quaked with silent laughter. “You and your damson jam!”

“Oh, like you didn’t scoff your share on my scones, Mister. And I’m sure you won’t want a couple of jars in your bag when you leave!”

“Guilty as charged.” He leaned back and grinned up at her. In one of his sometimes mercurial changes of mood, now he looked adorably rumpled and young. “And is this going to be the visit when we have sex?”

“I rule nothing in...”

“‘...and rule nothing out’. How often has it been now you’ve said that? You’re nothing if not consistent, I’ll give you that.”

“I do my best,” she said, with mock dignity.

He was lying on his left side. Quite suddenly he lifted his free right hand and drifted it gently over her face, as though discovering its contours with the lightest of fingertip touches. “Don’t ever change, Holly. I couldn’t bear it if you changed. I need you so much.”

She dabbed a kiss on his finger as it passed across her mouth, but held his gaze. Now serious, he returned her look with an openness that she could guess was rare indeed in his life even now.

“I have no idea why you should think I’m going to change, Malcolm. I’ll always be your friend. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“Always? No matter what I’ve done?” Anguish peeped out; he needed to unburden himself. Starfleet would have excised a great deal from the material it released to the hungry Press.

“ ‘Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,’” she told him softly. 

He knew the sonnet of course. In a low voice he continued the quotation: “‘...Or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever-fixéd mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.’

“The star to every wandering barque. That was you to me when we were out there, Holly. The one thing I could depend on, the one person I could–”

His head jerked aside. “What the _fuck–?_ ”

Here in the peace of the dale, most mechanical sounds belonged to farm machinery. Even the most modern technical advances hadn’t succeeded in making cultivation equipment completely silent, but they were simply part of the background here. Now Holly too caught the sound of an approaching engine that was not that of a farm machine nor even a flitter or delivery van. Following the line of his outraged stare, she saw a shuttlepod, and its line of descent showed it was clearly heading for the empty field beside the cottage.

“Bloody hell, I’ve only just got here! They said a month minimum, I– Shit, shit, _shit!_ ” A trail of impassioned expletives followed him into the utility room, where he pulled on a pair of grass-stained jeans that had been waiting to go into the washing machine. Holly also followed him, just in time to get a short and slightly grubby sun-dress square in the face. “Put that and a pair of knickers on, I’m not having them ogling your arse.”

“Malcolm, it – it wouldn’t be the Xindi again –?”

He shook his head, though she felt it was a reasonable question; even though _Enterprise_ had put an end to the threat on that score, the horror of the attack out of the blue had left most people instinctively ready to think ‘Xindi’ at the first sign of a threat. “I doubt it, love,” he said reassuringly. “It looks there’s trouble, but I’d be surprised if it’s from them. Bloody hell, the repairs won’t be halfway done yet!” He fished out a T-shirt but threw it back again with a curse. “I can take a change of clothes with me. Let’s hear what they have to say.” He was calming into acceptance now, and heaved an ‘Oh well, here we go again’ sigh. “I suppose I’m being recalled – so much for shore leave!”

He moved to the sink and began throwing handfuls of water over his chest, trying to wash off the worst of the grass. Holly slipped on the sun-dress and found a pair of panties in the washing-basket, and then stepped outside again to watch the shuttlepod land.

“Malcolm, there are three of them coming here,” she said in a troubled voice, re-entering the kitchen to find him hurriedly towelling himself down. “But they’re not in ordinary Starfleet uniforms, and they’re armed. And I think one of them is heading for the back of the house.”

He checked for half a second. Up until then, he’d shown nothing more than curiosity and concern, plus the legitimate exasperation of a man having his well-earned leave interrupted and possibly even ended, but the news that the visitors were acting in a way that suggested they might pose a threat switched him instantly into the worst form of defensive mode. The expression on the face which emerged from the towel boded ill for anyone foolhardy enough to threaten his sanctuary. With a chill she recognised the cold grey stare of the Section 31 agent who’d materialised at her back door that first afternoon, the stare of a trained killer.

Her kitchen knives were kept on the work-surface, secured by their blades to a magnetic block. He reached out and palmed one so deftly that she could almost have missed it being slid into his pocket as he closed and locked the back door with his other hand.

“Whatever this is, sweetie, don’t make it worse.”

“I’m not. I’m making it fairer.”

Moving soundlessly on bare feet, he went into the lounge, drawing her after him. He pointed her to the chair in the corner, where Dickon the cat was curled up asleep, nose tucked firmly into his tail. “Sorry, the moggy has to move.”

He was the expert in this kind of situation, so with a whispered apology of her own she picked up the cat. Sometimes Dickon would consent to occupy a lap instead but the heat always made him a little grumpy and he hated being disturbed, so he jumped down and stalked into the kitchen, where he meowed angrily at finding the door closed and jumped up onto the board to see if he could get out through the window – and then hissed. The sound made her already fast-beating heart pick up the pace another notch.

She kept the lounge curtains drawn during the heat of the day to keep the room cool. Careful to look through the tiny chink between the curtains without touching either of them, Malcolm watched the road. Dickon scampered flat-eared back into the lounge and fled into the bookcase, where he wedged himself into the smallest space that would contain him and glared out of it at the door, what could be seen of his tail inflated like a bottle-brush.

“JAG and Shore Patrol. And you’re right, they’re carrying sidearms. What the _fuck_..?”

Moments later, the doorbell rang.

“Should I answer it?”

“They know we’re here. There’ll be sensors in the shuttlepod.” His glance at her was coldly analytical, and she realised with a shiver that, reverting to his Covert Ops training, he was weighing up his chances of credibly holding her hostage if the worst came to the worst. Not that he would actually harm her, but if he could make the visitors believe he was willing to do whatever it took... But then he shook his head. “For now we’ll co-operate. Till I find out what they want.”

Holly stood up. She was by no means lacking in courage, but her knees were less steady than she’d have liked. After the bliss of the morning, she loathed that tense, wary look on his face: the look of a man who’d been hunted as well as hunter.

When the doorbell went, she walked into the hall, conscious of him close behind and even more conscious of the all-purpose knife in his pocket.

No point in delay. She jerked the door open.

Exactly as Malcolm had identified them, one of the two men in front of her was a member of the Shore Patrol. Beside him was a second individual, whose snowy white uniform bore the insignia and epaulettes of a JAG officer.

“Ma’am,” this man addressed her politely. “I beg your pardon, but we’re here to speak to Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, of the Starship _Enterprise_ , if he’s here. May we come in?”

As if he couldn’t see Malcolm right behind her, making no effort to hide his presence!

Still – there was always protocol, she supposed wearily.

No point in demanding to see a warrant. They would have one, and it would merely make her appear unnecessarily obstructive as well as ignorant. _Pick the battles you can win._

“Please, come in.” She stepped back and pushed Malcolm lightly in the belly. With a last blank stare that warned she’d best not be harmed or even frightened, he led the way into the lounge, where he took up position with his back to the hearth. His arms were not crossed defensively; there was no reason why they should be. Instead he stood with his hands resting lightly on his hips, and his head up.

“Sir, am I correct in believing you are Lieutenant Malcolm Reed?” asked the Shore Patrol officer.

“You know I am. Get on with it.”

“Then, Lieutenant, I have to advise you that you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

His face registered blank astonishment, and good as he undoubtedly was at feigning, Holly would have taken oath that it was genuine. “On what charges?”

It was the JAG officer who answered. “Sir, I believe it’s inappropriate to discuss such matters in the presence of a civilian. If you would accompany us, please...”

“You’ve sent someone into the back garden just in case I don’t oblige.” The astonishment segued into bitter amusement. “Wasted effort; I’ll come quietly.” He glanced at Holly, who’d risen involuntarily, one hand stretched out towards him. “I don’t know what this is about, but I’ll be back. Don’t worry. Just some misunderstanding.” With a shrug he took the knife from his pocket and reversed it – the SP whipped his phase pistol from its holster and levelled it at him, but Malcolm simply glanced indifferently at it and continued the movement of handing the blade to Holly.

She didn’t know a lot about the minutiae of legal process, but she knew enough to be sure that there had to be more to this than ‘some misunderstanding’. In order to obtain a warrant for his arrest, they would have had to go before a military judge, presenting evidence that linked Malcolm to a crime. And the judge must have felt that sufficient justification had been produced for the warrant to be issued.

The patrol officer re-holstered his phase pistol and produced handcuffs. Incredulously she watched Malcolm extend his arms, watched the metal click into place around his wrists.

He glanced aside at her just once. And in that split second she saw, with horror in her heart, the wild, snarling grin of Jaguar before he smoothed it to a bland expression as he was led to the door.


	5. Chapter 4: Archer

“It’s been good spending time with you again, Jon.” Erika smiled up at him as they walked through the large, airy reception area of Starfleet HQ, heading for the officers’ bar there for a farewell drink before the shuttle came to take her back to her ship. “Now they’ve done with the upgrades to _Columbia_ it’s back to the day job for me. And I bet you’re not sorry to have that debriefing over and done with. How long do they say it’ll take before your boat’s through with repairs?”

“Probably a while yet. They’re not just repairing her, before I left they were drawing up a list of the upgrades. You know those extra weapons I recommended for _Columbia_? We’re getting them too. _All_ of them. Malcolm will think he’s died and gone to heaven.”

She glanced up at him. “You ever think about taking your own advice about a tactical officer?”

A pang of disloyalty squirmed in him. His advice about having a MACO as Head of Tactical had been well-meant and in many respects he still thought it was sound, but he couldn’t help but remember guiltily that on the occasion of his being taken over by the Insectoid neurochemicals in the Expanse, Hayes had blindly supported him; whatever his doubts, the MACO had obeyed his military training and stayed with the chain of command. Malcolm, however, had understood that something was desperately wrong and joined the mutiny, directing the assault to take over the Bridge before the Insectoid ships arrived to destroy _Enterprise_. But for that action, trusting his intuition rather than the demands of military discipline, the mission might well have ended then and there.

“On principle it’s a good idea,” he compromised – he owed his faithful tactical officer that much at least, and had never given more than a passing thought to rewarding the guy by replacing him. “But I still recommend you talk to General Casey about having a squad on board.”

Just as the two of them reached the door of the lounge, there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned, surprised, to see Admiral Forrest, with a somber-looking uniformed JAG officer beside him.

“Hi, Max, you have time to join us for a drink?”

“I’m afraid not this time, Jon.” The admiral hesitated. “Captain Hernandez, I hope you’ll excuse us but I need to have a word in private with Jon. Immediately.”

Erika’s tiny frown said she’d picked up immediately on the undercurrents that were already zapping along Jon’s nervous system, but she made no objection, just smiled, shook hands with him, and said she was sure they’d bump into each other somewhere out there. Which, given the vastness of space, was probably the best of a joke she could come up with on the spur of the moment.

The lightness of spirit he’d managed to recover even a little of up on the mountain had begun seeping away almost as soon as he’d returned to HQ. Even the subsequent final and favorable outcome of the debriefing hadn’t succeeded in restoring it. Now, with an uneasy glance at Max’s worried scowl, Jon accompanied him to one of the conference rooms.

The door closed behind them, but before they could even sit down at the table Forrest turned to him. “Jon, this is Lieutenant Morgan. He’s here to place you under arrest.”

– _Arrest?_

The word stopped him in his tracks. It was just so impossible that he didn’t even interrupt while the JAG lieutenant read him his rights. He simply stared.

Back in the Expanse, the laws of physics could not be counted on to apply. Now it seemed that back on Earth, the laws of reason had decided to take a temporary vacation too.

What the _hell?_

“We don’t want this to be made public, at least not till – unless it has to be,” the admiral continued. “You’re to consider yourself confined to base, Captain. We’ll pass on the handcuffs.”

“But sir–!” the lieutenant protested.

“I said we’ll pass on the damned handcuffs!” Max snarled. “If it wasn’t for Jonathan Archer Earth would be a pile of rubble right now, so if you don’t want your damn handcuffs shoved up your ass, keep them in your pocket!”

Morgan clearly decided that his handcuffs were better off staying where they were.

“Any chance of telling me what this is all about?” Jon finally found his voice, which was surprisingly calm considering he felt as if he’d strayed into a madhouse.

The admiral shot him a troubled glance. “It’s about the _Seleya_ , Jon.”

“But I thought…”

“Yeah. So did we all. But it’s … politics.”

Politics. He hated goddamn politics; he hated them with a passion. And despite the fact that Max had carefully refrained from using the adjective, Jon knew exactly what it was: _Vulcan_ politics.

“We’ll make sure both of you get the best counsel available,” the older man hurried on.

“ _Both_ of us?” the captain interrupted sharply.

“Reed is already under arrest. They brought him back from England this morning.”

This whole thing was becoming more and more unreal. The sweat of anger broke on his palms. “What about T’Pol? Are they charging her too, or doesn’t she count? She was on the _Seleya_ with the rest of us. They’re too late to charge Hawkins, he was one of the poor bastards who never made it back!”

Max shot a deeply uncomfortable look at the JAG officer, and Jon caught himself up. He was under caution now, anything he said could and undoubtedly would be used in evidence against him.

Never in evidence ‘for’ him, oh, no…

_Soval. The treacherous bastard. I thought better of him than this. Especially after that last morning: ‘You’ve done a great service for both our worlds’. And he actually shook hands with me!_

“So what now?” he asked coldly.

“You’re to be confined to the base for the meantime, sir,” Lieutenant Morgan answered. “You’ll be placed under armed guard until the Article 32 hearing, and you must not discuss the case with anyone other than your JAG attorney.”

“And Lieutenant Reed?”

“He’s being held in a secure facility, sir.”

A tide of frustrated, helpless invective washed through Jon’s mind. He couldn’t help Malcolm, probably wouldn’t even be allowed to get a message to him.

“I’ll make sure he’s in the most comfortable quarters available, Jon,” Max said hastily.

_He followed my orders. He’s not responsible._

_The pointy-eared bastards will_ make _him responsible._

He had to wait, and he’d never been good at waiting; had to contain himself as best he could till he got qualified legal advice.

Would Starfleet support him against the High Command? If there was a trial and the verdicts were ‘guilty’, both he and Malcolm would presumably serve terms in a military prison. Then, there was an excellent chance that the Vulcan authorities would want them extradited to face trial and sentencing there. Would the top brass risk a rift with a powerful ally by refusing to hand over their officers?

And if they did, what would happen then? Would the careful accord he and others had worked so hard to establish be put in jeopardy, and would he want it to be?

He’d once been willing to condemn both himself and his tactical officer to death by hanging rather than contaminate a pre-warp society’s development. Now, when it was more vital than ever for civilized worlds to learn to co-operate for their combined safety, would he want all that potential good put at risk?

There seemed little to be gained by remaining here. As the three of them walked in silence to the field grade quarters Jon had been allocated, the captain’s mind roamed in anguish over the things he’d had to do _out there_ – the things that had stolen his morality, left the mark of Cain on his forehead. He’d been a party to torture, had ordered theft and murder; he could plead that necessity had dictated his actions, but that made little difference to the scars on his soul. 

‘ _Inter arma enim silent leges.’_ ‘In time of war, the law falls silent’. That had basically been the axiom that had pulled him clear after the inquiry concluded. They’d sent him out there to carry out his mission, whatever the cost. He’d had to do terrible things for terrible reasons – when the survival of Earth was at stake, there could be no other conclusion but that the end justified the means. There might be those who demurred, but none of the bastards had been _out there._

But the _Seleya_! By the bitterest of ironies, on that score his conscience was clear. He might, and sincerely did, regret that he’d been unable to save any of the doomed Vulcans from their ship, despite Phlox’s professional opinion that none of them had been capable of being saved, their mental deterioration already effectively fatal. But he was quite sure that even despite T’Pol’s increasing instability as the trellium coating on the hull began to affect her just as it had her compatriots, the landing party had done everything they possibly could to carry out a rescue; at least until events and the Vulcans themselves had made it imperative that they get the hell out of there before any of their own were added to the casualty list.

There were already two armed MACOs on duty at the door. He broke stride involuntarily at the sight of them, and felt a bitter grin twisting his mouth. _You get what you ask for…_

Max left him at the door.

“I’m sure we’ll get this sorted, Jon,” he said, dropping a hand on his shoulder. “With what they owe you – with what we _all_ owe you…”

Jon’s smile was merely a movement of his lips and got nowhere near his eyes. “Seems some people have real short memories.”

The admiral patted him again, futilely.

And left him there.


	6. Chapter 5: Tucker

“Wake up, hero.”

Someone was tapping his face, and not gently.

Trip lashed out and didn’t connect with anything. Probably all the alcohol that was still sloshing around in his system had a lot to do with that.

And he didn’t get the chance to try a second time, because someone grabbed hold of his arm and twisted it, using it to turn him over and pin him face-down on the sofa.

Fuck, that _hurt._

“Get yourself sobered up and get in touch with your Vulcan girlfriend,” said a harsh, unknown voice in his ear. “Yesterday, if not before. And don’t use Starfleet comms.”

His wrist was released. The hard hand that had pressed down between his shoulder blades was removed. Distantly, through the pulse of pain from his abused arm and the rebellion of his abused digestive system, he registered the soft opening and closing of the door; he was alone again.

After a minute or two he tried to stand up.

This wasn’t a good idea either. While he’d been horizontal his stomach had been biding its time. As soon as his top half was nearing vertical – he was never going to get all the way onto his feet – it unleashed its revenge.

He’d been sick before, but never over himself. Even in his stupid teenage years when he’d been discovering the joys of sex and alcohol he’d never puked in his lap. Now he retched up what felt like liters of bourbon and acid, and didn’t even have the strength to move.

A long time after that, he somehow got himself on hands and knees into the bathroom. He stripped off the filthy clothes he was wearing – just sweatpants and a tee that had already been grimy from days of being the only thing he wore – and dropped them in the corner of the shower cubicle. By some feat of human determination he got the water switched on, and then he crept inside and sat cross-legged under the spray. His whole body was shaking so hard it was only surprising the cubicle itself wasn’t rattling in sympathy.

This wasn’t solving _anything_. 

That said, he’d never thought it would. He’d just wanted a few hours of oblivion, hours when he didn’t have to watch his memory replay over and over and over again the minutes of his life when he’d just stood in silence and watched the woman of his dreams marry another man.

Well, he’d had a few of those. He’d drank and sobbed and drank and cursed and drank again, and woken to more pain and more alcohol. Over the past week he’d lived like a recluse in this dingy hotel room, venturing out only to buy more bourbon from the dingy store down the street where even the indifferent staff behind the till were starting to stare hard at him.

Commander Charles Tucker III, Hero of the Expanse…

He started to giggle. Then he couldn’t stop. He began to laugh and finally he was guffawing helplessly, the tears squeezing themselves between his closed lids. The spray from above went into his open mouth as he threw his head back, making him splutter and choke, and somehow this seemed funnier than anything else. 

How Lizzie would have laughed if she could see him now.

The thought of her laughter ripped open a wound that had never even started to heal. An animal howl of loss echoed off the Plexiglas as he clutched at his head, clawing at his hair. Damned Xindi, they should have blown a few of _their_ innocent families to hell, to teach them what it felt like…

_‘Trip, don’t do this to yourself. It won’t bring me back. And nor would killing anyone else who had nothing to do with it.’_ He could hear her, as clearly as if they’d been sitting side by side on the porch swing on the veranda at the back of the house. For all her fragile-looking fair prettiness, Lizzie’d had a tough side and a rock-ribbed sense of right and wrong. She’d been a victim, but she’d been more than that: she’d been someone who would never have held back from telling him straight up when he was in the wrong. And she’d have told him a whole lot more than straight up that he was achieving nothing at all getting shitfaced for days on end because he’d lost the woman he loved.

_T’Pol_ … She’d looked so damn gorgeous in that form-fitting purple dress. And her beautiful face, so pale and still, framed by the scarf.

Her kiss, cool and brief against his cheek, burning him like a brand.

_I should have told her._

But by then it had been too late, too late for all of them…

Finally he got himself out of the shower, though drying himself was too much like effort and he just draped a towel around his lower half. A hunt through the small heap of stuff he’d bought at some point because it had seemed like a good idea revealed a packet of plain cookies and he made himself a black coffee. At first even the taste of the cookies made him nauseous, but he needed to get something into his stomach so he persevered, slowly chewing his way through half the packet while he sat on his bed and tried to get his brain into some kind of working order.

By this time, he was no longer sure whether the earlier visitation mightn’t have been some kind of alcohol-fueled hallucination. The only thing that was indisputable evidence was the twinge in his shoulder, which was real and strong enough to suggest that _something_ had happened to it.

_‘Get in touch with your Vulcan girlfriend. And don’t use Starfleet comms.’_

What the hell was all that about?

‘My girlfriend’? _She’s not ‘my girlfriend’. She’s someone else’s **wife**. _

And even if he was insane enough to contemplate busting in on her honeymoon, how in the name of blazes was he supposed to do it without using Starfleet comms? Sure he had a cellphone, but he wasn’t sure calls to Vulcan were included in the package.

He controlled another hysterical urge to giggle at the thought of ringing the operator and putting through a call collect. Man, if he was supposed to be keeping this off the radar, that wasn’t the way to go about it.

After making himself a second cup of coffee, he sat down at the small table. Even now he never traveled anywhere without a set of miniature tools in one of his pockets, and within moments he had his cellphone pried open. Hell, wasn’t he supposed to be a wonder-worker with all things mechanical? Maybe he could find some way to turn it into a communicator, boost the signal enough to reach Vulcan…

Everything looked normal. Except–

He frowned. It wasn’t like he was used to rooting about inside phones, but they were enough like communicators for him to be able to identify what needed to be there. And this – he touched the small item delicately with the tweezers – was nothing he’d seen before in any standard communications device. It was definitely some kind of miniature transceiver that was quite separate from any of the rest of the components.

It was easy enough to pull out if he’d wanted to and one stamp of his foot would put an end to its usefulness, but though that was his first instinct his second said that if he did that, whoever had put it there would know they’d been found out. And if they wanted to eavesdrop on his conversations, as it seemed they did, they’d make a second attempt. And he might not find out about the next one.

_Where the hell’s our resident security expert when you need him?_

Off in England of course, taking some well-earned shore leave from the accumulated weeks that he usually didn’t bother taking unless forced off the ship. Normally Trip would have been the first to applaud, the horrors of the Expanse must have taken its toll even on a guy who’d seemed to hold up better than most, but right now he didn’t need Malcolm in England – he needed him _here_.

Hell, even the room itself could be bugged. Trip glared around apprehensively, his gaze wincing from the number of empty bottles lying anyhow beside the sofa he’d spent most of his time lying on. Aboard _Enterprise_ he had scanners that could have identified any suspicious devices, but here and now he was just an ordinary guy hiding from the world while he tried to get his heart stuck back together again, and that kind of guy didn’t come complete with sophisticated technology tucked in his rucksack. For one thing, he’d known when he set out to come here that any valuables he had were likely to be targeted, and with that in mind he’d brought along a tatty old cellphone which just about still worked, one the average thief would turn their nose up at. The discovery that even this had been got at was not a pleasant one.

He needed a walk. It had been days since he’d gotten any fresh air into his lungs, and maybe half an hour of a westerly in from the Pacific would blow some of the lingering cobwebs out of his brain.

Promising himself to clean the place up some when he got back, he opened any of the windows that could be opened – just enough to let some air filter in, because it was pretty damn foul already and would be a whole lot worse by the time he returned – and walked out into the street. A few blocks brought him to the harbor, and a distant view that normally he would have enjoyed strolling up to take in if the weather was kinder: the yachts of the wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice, anchored in the marina a few kilometers further up the bay. But here in the harbor itself the shipping was far less exotic, mostly fishing boats and a few pleasure cruisers catering for a more modest clientele. And the weather wasn’t so good – there was a westerly blowing, true, but bringing in low cloud and spitting rain. Nobody was occupying the benches today and a walk up the seafront was a pleasure most people seemed to be denying themselves pretty easily.

Still, that was playing to his advantage. Crawlingly aware that _someone else_ was either recording or actually listening to whatever he was about to say, Trip thumbed one of the contacts.

“Hey, Trip, how are you?”

“Yeah, I’m – I’m all good, Hoshi.” He forced himself to sound cheerful. “Where are you at the moment?”

“I’m in Sonoma. I flew back yesterday and I’ve found this beautiful little place attached to a vineyard. I’m going to lie by the pool and drink wine till they recall us for duty. How about you, are you with your parents?”

He blessed his lucky stars that she’d chosen to come back early. “No, I’m in Frisco. Thought they might need me with the upgrades.” Before she could butt in to tell him he ought to relax and take his shore leave like everyone else, he drove on, “Care to meet up somewhere for a chat?”

There was a fractional hesitation. “Sure. Anywhere in mind?”

He loved the idea of the place by the vineyard – he pictured a cool terrace, with vine leaves trained over wooden arches overhead to provide a cool and rustling shade in the heat of the day – but the thought of that listening transceiver millimeters from his ear made his skin creep. Whatever else, he couldn’t let _them_ find out where she was…

_Get a grip, Tucker, it’s Malcolm who’s the paranoid one around here…_

But he couldn’t get out of his mind the reply that had snapped out at him one time when, tired and irritable, he’d goaded his friend once too often about his habit of seeing threats everywhere: “ _Just because I’m paranoid, Commander, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”_

From what his sodden brain could recall on demand of the towns along the Redwood Highway, Sausalito was probably about the best. It was a pity that this just happened to be where the Vulcan compound was based, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about that, and she wouldn’t have to travel far to get there. He picked a restaurant chain that derived most of its trade from serving the interstate traffic (there was bound to be one there) and specified a time late that evening – time constraints be damned, he was in no fit state to drive, and it would take a while to get himself cleaned up and travel all that way on public transport. If she had issues she’d ring him back. He could, of course, have hired a taxi, but the paranoia was getting to him; given the gizmo sitting eavesdropping on this conversation, there was no saying who’d be at the wheel of any transport that turned up.

With that, he closed the call. It had been plenty long enough for Hoshi’s whereabouts to be traced, if the listener had access to that kind of technology. But if he was to get in touch with T’Pol without using Starfleet technology, he couldn’t think of any other way to do it. 

When you need help, you go to the expert.


	7. Chapter 6: T'Pol

It had been a waste of time her staying at the monastery on Mount Seleya, so she had made her excuses and left.

She could have traveled with Soval, but she could barely bring herself to speak to him; and indeed, it was doubtful whether he would have expected her to. He seemed to have aged a hundred years since the last time she had seen him, and it was impossible not to believe that he was worried over far more than the bitter injustice of Jonathan Archer being prosecuted for the deaths of what remained of the crew of the _Seleya_. 

As a member of the boarding party, then, she herself could be prosecuted as an accessory to their eventual deaths. If the High Command could find or even invent the means to convince a tribunal that the captain had intended those deaths from the start, all three of them could potentially end up accused of murder.

In view of the fact that the searching internal Starfleet investigation had cleared him of any wrong-doing in the matter, proving Archer guilty of such calculated evil would be difficult. But if she agreed – as she would have infinitely preferred to do – to stand her trial with the others, it would not only be she herself who suffered…

 _T’Les._ Why could her mother not have learned her lesson, have refrained from meddling with a cause the High Command already viewed with deep suspicion? How much more would it cost to save her from the consequences of her stubborn folly, and persuade her to abstain from taking wholly unnecessary risks?

It was hardly to be expected that in the circumstances T’Pol would be allowed to travel unescorted. A polite, urbane young government official was waiting with an official flitter when she left the monastery, with an equally polite, urbane young man who was without a shadow of a doubt a member of the V’Shar.

Refusing their company would be both illogical and pointless, so she coldly accepted it. The vehicle was comfortable enough, superbly air conditioned against the burning heat of the evening, and she sat silently back in her chair and reviewed her options.

Remaining neutral was never going to be permitted. She could be a victim with the others or she could act as a tool for the High Command to destroy them. Serving first with the V’Shar and then for a time as a member of the ambassador’s suite, she had some slight acquaintance with military law. If she was charged with a crime, she would not be required to testify. Even if she was _not_ charged, she could refuse to testify based on her right not to be forced to incriminate herself by testifying.

The way around that for the High Command, however, would be to charge her and then offer her immunity to testify against the others. Which was effectively what Soval had already warned her was going to happen.

She would not even have to lie. If she stuck to her perceptions of events at the time, the actions of the other members of the boarding party had indeed appeared capable of sinister interpretation to say the least. It was only later reflection that had convinced her that given their characters, Archer and Reed could not possibly have acted in the way she had believed. Given the effect that trellium had on the Vulcan psyche it had been easy to convince herself that she too had been briefly a victim of the madness that had overtaken her unfortunate compatriots on the _Seleya_ ; and for all that Phlox’s treatment had stabilized her condition to a huge degree, to judge by the carefully controlled reactions of the practitioners in the monastery her mental processes were still extremely disordered by comparison to those of an average member of her species.

But could she do it? Could she repay Archer’s trust in her – a trust that was mutual, and that had lately begun to feel like a friendship – by destroying his career? If convicted, depending on the exact crime of which he was found guilty (and even if murder was out of reach, manslaughter would be effective enough to put an end to his Starfleet career), he might well face prison. Worse still, if that happened – assuming the trial took place on Earth and the sentence was served in a military prison there – the extradition treaty between Earth and Vulcan allowed the High Command to wait until that sentence was served and then demand his extradition to face trial there on the same charges, effectively condemning him to be punished twice for the same crime. And going by the well-earned reputation of Administrator V’Las and his cohorts, that was exactly what was intended to happen.

She was divided regarding Lieutenant Reed. She knew, as the captain did not, that Reed had at one time been a member of Starfleet’s ‘Section 31’. Although his conduct since coming aboard _Enterprise_ had been exemplary, she had remained conscious of that facet of his history; there was still a remote possibility that the Section might have found it useful to place him on board as a ‘sleeper’, ready to carry out their orders if and when required. She had been vigilant without betraying the fact, but after the years of unstinting and unwavering service even she now believed that Reed was a loyal and obedient officer. Quite possibly he was equally aware of her previous service with the V’Shar but Captain Archer was also aware of it and had not seen it as any cause to dismiss her from his staff. Whether he would feel equally sanguine if he knew his Head of Tactical had been an active Black Operations agent for Starfleet’s own ‘Department of Dirty Tricks’ was a different matter.

True, this was somewhat specious reasoning for having Reed condemned for a crime he almost certainly had not committed. He might have been confused by her instructions – in fairness, she could not even be certain she had given them correctly – or simply made a mistake in carrying them out. Neither of these amounted to anything like deliberately causing the deaths of the _Seleya_ ’s crew. At worst he could be accused of negligence, and even that (given the extreme stress of their environment at the time) was unlikely to stick. There was little doubt that the lieutenant’s defense attorney could and would bring innumerable items of evidence to testify that in ordinary circumstances ‘negligent’ was not a word in the Englishman’s lexicon.

So, she could not justify bearing witness against him when in her heart of hearts she did not believe he was guilty of the crime of which he would be accused. As for whether there was any moral justification for claiming that by virtue of his questionable activities for a quasi-legal arm of Starfleet he was almost certainly guilty of _something_ , that was a fragile defense indeed for what she was proposing to do to him. Especially given her own history as a member of the V’Shar, who were perfectly capable of questionable activities on their own account if the need was there.

The same argument could apply to the captain, given some of his activities in the Expanse: piracy, torture, murder, all carried out with cold deliberation because events gave him no choice. Starfleet had exonerated him of guilt for those actions, because presumably the end had been held to justify the means, but that did not mean he was not culpable for them. She doubted whether he himself would believe so. Still, being punished for a crime he had not committed because he seemed fated to escape punishment for those he certainly had was as morally questionable as Reed’s being indirectly punished for whatever unnamed and unspecified activities he had carried out at the behest of Section 31.

But the alternative…

If the High Command was determined on Archer’s destruction, could she save him by testifying in his defense?

As the Head of the Science Department she had been obliged to record personal logs on events. She had not done so for some days after the episode aboard the _Seleya_ , but in hindsight she feared that even then the material in it would provide ample evidence of her mental state, including confused half-questions as to whether the captain had been at least partially responsible for what had happened and even deliberately caused it. If he had given unlawful orders to that effect, Reed had disobeyed military law by following them. She could not, of course, testify that any such orders had been given, but she had not been a witness to every exchange between the two men. And by that time her paranoia had been such that she had more than half believed _both_ of them were conspiring to murder the wretched crew of the _Seleya_. In her mind, the steps from _willing_ to _intending_ to _planning_ had been short and almost inevitable ones. She even remembered accusing the captain of it to his face.

As a witness for the defense she would be dubious at best. True, as a witness for the prosecution she would be equally vulnerable; the Starfleet investigators had had access to the logs and opted to treat hers with the appropriate caution, particularly when later entries testified to her distaste for her previous confusion and her regret at how the trellium had affected her trust in the captain’s actions. But if the High Command were determined on a conviction, and made it known through the right channels that a failure to prosecute could negatively affect Earth-Vulcan relations…

_The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the two._

She rested her head against the window and watched the bare red surface race past. In the light of the setting sun, it was the color of drying blood.

Perhaps it was just as well that Vulcans were not superstitious.


	8. Chapter 7: Sato

“Hey, Trip! You’re looking great!”

The words were automatic. Privately Hoshi was appalled, and it took all her self-control to keep the smile pinned on her face as Trip slid into the seat opposite her.

Far from looking better for the weeks of shore leave, he looked _worse._ He was always a casual dresser off duty, but now he looked positively sloppy. True, he’d made an effort to comb his hair and have a shave, even if neither of these had been particularly successful. But worse than any of these things, he looked drawn and exhausted. For sure he’d lost weight.

The inevitable waitress materialized and he ordered coffee and pancakes. As soon as a furtive glance around told him nobody was taking any notice of them, he pulled out a piece of notepaper from his pocket and pushed it across the table to her.

 _My phone is bugged_ , said a penciled scrawl across the top of it. _I can’t talk. But I have to get in touch with T’Pol. Urgently. Not through Starfleet comms._

“So how were your family?” she asked, taking the stub of a pencil he also passed across. “I guess it’s still pretty awful around there.”

“I haven’t been back yet.” His voice was flat. “I went to Vulcan with T’Pol. She got married. Then I came home. I’ve just been hangin’ around since then. Sooner or later I’ll go back to the ship, they’ll need every hand they can get with the repairs.” He went on detailing what needed to be done, non-sensitive stuff that provided a cover for the scribbling while she tried to fit into her world-view the fact that their XO had taken the guy who was heels over head in love with her to watch while she got married to someone else. 

There had been something once about a betrothal, but it had never come to anything back then. Presumably it had been felt that T’Pol’s return to Vulcan had provided a useful opportunity that might as well be taken advantage of.

Jeez, no wonder Trip looked like he’d been rolled over by a cargo loader.

 _I’ll send you an encryption program for your PADD_ , she wrote. _We can talk that way. What’s going on?_

 _I have no idea_. _I had some guy turn up at my hotel room and tell me to contact her. I have no idea who he was. I didn’t even see him._

_Have you contacted the captain?_

_I’ve tried_. _Not getting any answer._

_How about Malcolm?_

_In England. And he’s not answering his cellphone either._

She bit her lip. That was bad news; there were those who’d draw a line of total demarcation between their professional and personal lives – as in ‘on leave’ means ‘don’t even think about trying to contact me because I won’t respond’ – but Malcolm sure as hell wasn’t one of them. He and Trip weren’t just brother officers, they were best friends.

_Admiral Forrest?_

_That’s a last resort._

_We may have to come to that._ She paused. _I’ll try to get in touch with T’Pol when I get back. But first I’ll get the encryption program set up and send it to you. Run any messages I send through it._

_Thanks, Hoshi. Be careful._

_You too._

“So enough already about the repairs. You plannin’ on hangin’ out with anybody while you’re livin’ it up in your hideaway?”

“There are always possibilities.” Hoshi gave him a roguish twinkle. “I’m in Sonoma for the wine tasting, but you never know, I may find some local dialects to study as well – that usually pays off.”

“You’re a mean, evil woman, you know that?” The coffee and pancakes had arrived while they were talking and Hoshi, currently in possession of the paper at that moment, had hidden it under one arm as soon as she saw the waitress approaching. Now Trip poured maple syrup over the top of the stack of pancakes and pointed the spoon at her sternly. “‘Mockin’ the afflicted’, that’s what Malcolm’d call it.”

“The only two out of the whole complement who got shore leave to come back in just their blues.” She took a sip of her own coffee and grinned at him over the rim, though she didn’t much feel like grinning just then. “I’d say I hoped you’d enjoyed the party, but I’ve always had the feeling it wasn’t that much of a party.”

“You got that right,” he said with deep feeling.

She put a hand out across the table and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. Look, I’m so glad you got in touch. I didn’t think you would, to be honest. Even after I made you promise.”

He was quick on the uptake. His free hand covered hers, and she felt the slight tremor in it. His blue gaze was intense. “You’re one of the best friends I have, Hoshi. I – I should have called you before now. It’s – it’s just been hard, you know? Lizzie, and then Jane Taylor, and… and then things kinda got out of hand.”

“That’s what friends are here for, Trip. Have you called Malcolm too?”

“I tried a coupla times. He must be hikin’ over one of those damn fells he keeps goin’ on about. Where you don’t see man nor beast from one end of the day to the other an’ there’s no phone signal half the time.”

“Yes. That’s his idea of heaven.” They shared a worried look. Possibly Malcolm was fell-hiking, but it would be unlike him to do so without sending at least Trip a brief note to say he’d be unavailable for so many days. Even on shore leave he was mercilessly practical about things like that. And thoughtful, so that others wouldn’t worry if they couldn’t get a hold of him.

Continuing to dwell on the subject would be a giveaway. Hoshi released his arm with a comforting squeeze and then deftly turned the subject to her visit home to Japan and what her family had had to say when they got her back. Though her status as another of the ‘Heroes of the Expanse’ had meant that her arrival at Tokyo had been a media circus and it had been the best part of a day before she’d actually gotten two minutes in private with her loved ones.

“They weren’t keen on me coming back here, to be honest,” she finished ruefully, taking another mouthful of coffee (it was rather cold by now, but still drinkable). “I think Mother thinks it’s time I settled down and started a family instead of exploring the galaxy.”

“First find someone you want to settle down with. Sometimes that’s easier said than done. An’ sometimes you don’t find them till it’s too late.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, and her heart contracted in sympathy.

“Oh, they have my bridegroom lined up. The son of Father’s business partner. Good looking, fabulously rich … I’d have it all. He’d even let me carry on teaching, if that’s what I want.” She made the note of irony a heavy one. From various conversations in the past Trip undoubtedly knew her family were deeply traditional, and the prospective bridegroom was apparently cast in the same mold. It didn’t quite seem to have occurred to any of them that a woman no longer needed ‘permission’ from anyone to follow whatever career she wanted to, married or not.

“Just make sure they don’t marry you to a conceited asshole.” The venom in his voice startled her back to the present.

“I won’t, don’t worry.” She patted his hand, blinking back a stray tear. “Can I have one of those pancakes before you eat them all?”

“Oh… sorry. Help yourself.” He pushed the plate across to her. “Guess I just assumed you’d eaten before I got here. You can use the spoon from your coffee… Want some more syrup?”

“I had a big lunch. I don’t really need anything right now, it’s just the smell’s heavenly. I shouldn’t have more than one or it’ll go straight to my waistline. Actually I probably shouldn’t even have one.”

“Like you need to worry. Hell, I’ve seen more fat on a greasy fry.”

She popped a piece into her mouth, but refused any syrup. The smell hadn’t lied; it did taste heavenly.

“I can’t stay too long. The next bus is in about fifteen minutes.”

“You came on public transport?”

He grinned tiredly. “Not exactly legal to drive right now.”

Her worry increased another notch; she’d heard the slight slur in his voice but put it down to exhaustion. Trip had always been able to control his drinking, but if he was too drunk to drive that meant he’d been hitting the bottle even this morning. 

“Will you be okay?”

“Sure. ‘Less they think to take my boots off, I got nothing a mugger would want.” He emptied his pockets on the table, revealing his worn old cellphone, a clear plastic case with a few tiny tools in it, a cheap lighter, the pencil-stub, a crumpled bus ticket and a few low-value coins. “My worldly goods, right there.”

“You’ll be better when you’re back on _Enterprise_ ,” she said softly.

“Yeah. That’s what I keep tellin’ myself.” He scooped the stuff back into his pockets, drained the last of his coffee and stood up. “Well, nice seein’ you again, Hoshi. Thanks for comin’. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Do. You know you promised.”

“An’ a Tucker always keeps his promises.” If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought his smile was genuine.

She watched out of the window as he walked out of the diner and crossed the flitter park to the road. Just before he reached the bus stop he paused and took something from his sleeve. In the gathering dusk she saw the flare as the paper with their secret conversation on it was set alight, and he dropped it to the pavement and let it burn before crushing what was left of it to ashes with the sole of his boot.

He didn’t look back as he waited for the bus, nor as he got on it.

Maybe he just forgot to.


	9. Chapter 8: Reed

Another day.

Malcolm had been standing at the window since before dawn. This was what he usually did; he was lucky to have a window, lucky indeed to be in a room that – for a brig – was relatively comfortable. It was not luxurious, but it wasn’t significantly less Spartan than his quarters aboard _Enterprise_. And that hadn’t had a viewing port.

He still didn’t know why he was here; the men who’d arrested him had simply said he was ‘wanted in connection with a crime’. Not that it mattered, particularly. He’d learned a long time ago to accept things as they came. Whenever the question _why_ surged up again he simply said _because_.

 _Because there was a reason._ And sooner or later he would find out what it was, and when he did, he would be able to act. And in the meantime, he bided his time and conserved his strength.

He had always been what Trip referred to as ‘the ship’s personal worry-wart’, whatever one of _those_ was when it was at home. So here, in a situation where worrying could achieve absolutely nothing, he steadfastly refused to surrender to the compulsion to do it again. Worry produced stress, and stress wore away the body’s reserves. When the time came to act, he would need everything – _everything_ – his body could give him. Coldly and deliberately he husbanded his mental and emotional reserves, spending hours every day cross-legged on the bed, meditating as he’d learned to do under T’Pol’s patient tutelage. If he thought about it at all he envisaged himself as a caged wolf, waiting and watching for the first scrap of a chance to unleash its whole arsenal of savagery. Quiet, patience and obedience weren’t submission. They were _tactics._

One of the most persistent and troubling w _hy_ s was _why hasn’t the captain come?_ Because surely, by now, Captain Archer would know his officer was awaiting trial. Somehow the captain would find a way to visit. Malcolm had had absolute faith in that from the start.

He still did. But the _why_ on that score was becoming louder and more persistent. And the _because_ was beginning to acquire the first hint of desperation.

Everything else, he could accept. The not knowing why he was here – even that wasn’t the worst of it. There would be a reason, and he knew that the law had a habit of dragging its feet. But Jonathan Archer was not known for foot-dragging. For the first twenty-four hours, every footfall outside his cell had him tensing in anticipation.

Archer had not come.

He _would_ come. Sooner or later the door would open and he would be there, with – with _something._ Malcolm didn’t allow himself to speculate on exactly what; an older and bitterly cynical self sneered at him for expecting help from any quarter. But the episode when he’d been impaled to _Enterprise_ ’s hull by a Romulan mine had taught him that Jonathan Archer never gave up on one of his crew. Even if the captain didn’t materialize like an angel with a flaming sword to lead him forth from durance vile (he had a feeling he was getting his biblical metaphors mixed up, but the visual was attractive), there would be something. Explanation. Hope. Wrath. Support.

_Something._

But so far ... nothing. Not a single visitor. If he hadn’t already been accustomed to solitude, and fortified by meditation, he would have been starting to feel oppressed by his isolation. It wasn’t as if he was the social centre of the universe at the best of times, but now and again – mostly when his meals were delivered and he ate them in solitary splendour – he was beginning to feel unexpectedly lonely.

True, he was allowed books (one paperback at a time, and with the outer cover removed) and let out of his cell for an hour a day to exercise. But that took place alone in a secure hall, where there were no items of gymnasium equipment (too apt to be converted into weapons or missiles) and all he could do was expend energy in furious bouts of running, laps and straight sprints, slamming his hand against one wall before turning to pelt back to the other end, and now and again varying his routine by leaping into the air as if trying to jump up and clutch an invisible rope dangling there.

It was going to be a beautiful day. The sea was visible in the distance, gloriously blue; even the bridge was just about discernible, a suggestion of thin, shining white lines against the early morning sky. Overhead a seagull cried, tilting brilliantly-sunlit wings against the cloudless blue as it veered away and flew off. He only knew it had called out because he saw the yellow beak open and close; the window was far too thick to let in the sound.

How he envied its freedom...

He lowered his head slightly, closing his eyes. The reinforced glass was cool against his forehead.

_Why?_

_Because._

His shoulders had tensed. Deliberately he forced them to relax. Evened out his breathing. Felt his slightly accelerated pulse slow down again.

_Not submission. Tactics._

It was important that incarceration shouldn’t affect his physical fitness. He could hardly ask for a running machine to be installed, and anything that constituted a weight could also constitute a weapon, but within the constraints of his cell he’d set himself a punishing daily routine of such exercises as were available to him. 

He hadn’t been allowed to retain his chronometer, or any other personal belongings, but high up on the other side of the corridor outside there was a clock. A thin glass panel, far too narrow to squeeze through even if he could have smashed the glass in it, allowed him to see it if he cared to glance that way.

‘Fasted’ exercise put more demands on the body. He moved to the area of his cell that he’d designated as his exercise area, went through the necessary cardio warm-up routine and then dropped immediately into the first exercise of the day: V-sits – supervising the fitness sessions on _Enterprise_ , he’d stare round like a hawk for anyone slacking. _“Get those toes to fingers!”_ If he pushed himself hard enough he’d get through all three sets before they brought breakfast.

... _Forty-nine... fifty!_ He swallowed a mouthful of water from the cardboard cup he’d set ready, and then slammed into the next. Prisoner squats; the name appealed sourly to his sense of humour. _Hands on head, arse low, bounce, don’t stand up._ Diamond push-ups next _(elbows in, chest to hands, PUSH!)_ , then plyo-lunges _(knees to floor, power UP!)_ , then burpees and back to handstand push-ups and squats. Fifty of each, three times over. Measuring himself against the silently changing figures on the clock display, pinning himself down to the sheer savagery of the struggle against lactic acid and despair. Soon serotonin was coursing through his brain; this was the one time where pushing himself enabled him to feel anything like his normal self. _Routine. Three sets. Get through it. Push._ No matter how hard it was to power through on an empty stomach, it made him feel normal. Feel strong. Feel like an officer.

When he was listening to his thundering heart pushing the blood to his muscles he couldn’t hear the silence. Didn’t realise that he couldn’t hear the seagull cry.

_Why?_

_Because._

_...Forty-nine... fifty!_


	10. Chapter 9: Hicks

_Well, this is sure going to be interesting_.

Lieutenant Commander Kenneth Hicks of the JAG office enjoyed his job. He usually found most of the cases he was allocated interesting, and that was one of the reasons why he was so successful.

That said, having lived like everyone else through the horror of the Xindi attack and the months of wretched suspense afterwards, when so much as a fragment of cloud unexpectedly blocking out the sun had people on the sidewalk lunging for cover, he’d felt the same euphoria as the rest of humanity when the news came that _Enterprise_ ’s mission had been successful. He’d watched as many of the transmissions as his work allowed (not many, as much of his supposedly ‘off duty’ time was actually taken up with case work) and seen for himself the worn and weary officers and crew returning to a hero’s welcome. Not that they looked much like heroes. They smiled dutifully for the cameras, but never for long, and it didn’t need a crystal ball to know that victory had come at a cost.

Twenty-seven lives. Not many, maybe, set against the number who would have died if the mission had failed; but enough, for the families for whom there would be no triumphant homecoming.

But having done his time in the military himself, Hicks knew that the cost was counted in more than bodies in caskets, even in bodies left floating frozen forever in space, denied even the dignity of a funeral service. For survivors, the full bill was yet to be presented. And for some it could be higher than they could pay.

Still, the whole world had acclaimed the victorious _Enterprise_ crew. All over the world there had been thanksgiving services. At a guess, the officers’ dress uniforms would need internal reinforcement to carry the weight of the fruit salad if every grateful country awarded them the decoration that was promised. They’d already taken their place in legend.

Which was why it had come as the shock of his life when that morning he’d been called into his Commanding Officer’s office and been handed the job of defense attorney for Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, the tactical officer for the Starship _Enterprise_. And as if that hadn’t been enough, he’d been informed that Captain Jonathan Archer was also facing the same charges, of the manslaughter of a significant (if imprecise) number of Vulcan officers and crew aboard a Vulcan starship named the _Seleya_.

Unlike their counterparts in the civilian justice system, JAG officers were not allowed to refuse a task that was allocated to them, unless there was some conflict of interest such as a relationship to the defendant concerned. Although the two men were co-defendants, each of them had to have a separate attorney – their individual interests might not be identical, and indeed might well become opposite; it was common for a defendant in a joint trial to agree to testify against his fellow in order to obtain leniency for himself. Plea bargaining was never pretty but it was part of the process and often served to speed it up. When rats could be persuaded to turn against each other, it was easier to clean out the nest.

Along with the rest of humanity, Ken was aware of the massive debt owed to Jonathan Archer. But his job now was to save Malcolm Reed in any way allowed by the law, and if that meant offloading any or all of Reed’s guilt on to his captain and CO, with whom it should properly rest, then that was what he would do.

Starfleet invariably preferred to present itself as a non-military organization – like its 20th Century predecessor NASA, solely designed for the exploration of space – but by international law only military ships and vessels could be armed, and even NASA in its day had not been wholly proof against incursion by military interests. Starfleet personnel carried naval rank and exchanged military courtesies, such as addressing officers as ‘Sir’ or by their rank and name, or ‘Mister’, which was exclusively a naval tradition. The MACOs who had been drafted in to support _Enterprise_ ’s own crew in the Expanse were the ground combat element of United Earth’s military, and Hicks was a former enlisted member of that organization, with his own fruit salad, going to college and law school after his stint with them and finally joining Starfleet’s JAG Corps after law school as an officer. It was a token of his experience and success rate that he’d been chosen for such a potentially high-profile and sensitive case, and there were a limited number of others in his office who would be judged suitable for representing Captain Archer. He didn’t yet know who would have been chosen, but would undoubtedly find that out very shortly.

If both Reed and Archer were facing a court martial, then there must be grounds for them to be charged. For most of the morning and on the way here he’d skimmed through the files to acquaint himself with the basic facts. 

It seemed that during the journey through the Expanse the _Enterprise_ had encountered the Vulcan ship _Seleya_ , adrift and crippled. A search party comprising Archer, Reed, the ship’s Vulcan XO T’Pol and a MACO named Hawkins (who’d been among the later casualties of the voyage) had carried out a boarding.

Thus far, everyone’s account agreed. However, Vulcan had apparently begun by claiming that crippled or otherwise, the _Seleya_ had still been their sovereign territory and that by entering it the _Enterprise_ officers became subject to Vulcan law and Vulcan jurisdiction. They were also alleging that both Archer and Reed had acted in such a way that their conduct endangered both the ship and the remaining crew and finally resulted in the total loss of the vessel with not a soul saved. Though the accounts left it uncertain how many of the Vulcans had still been alive by that time (a number had almost certainly been dead by the time the boarding party arrived), it was generally believed to have been a significant proportion of the one hundred and forty-seven men and women originally listed as the ship’s complement.

On Earth, maritime law dictated that salvage rights to a derelict vessel at sea belonged to the finder. No legal agreement on that score had ever been made regarding spacefaring vessels, and for certain Vulcan wasn’t going to agree to one now, but they’d drawn their horns in sufficiently to agree to the case being heard on Earth by a military court, under the terms of a relatively recent Earth-Vulcan treaty that covered such matters.

The account heard and accepted by a Starfleet board of inquiry after _Enterprise_ ’s return went into quite a considerable degree of detail regarding the boarding and eventual destruction of the _Seleya_. Although naturally classified, the documents dealing with this particular issue were deemed essential reading for the legal teams conducting the case and therefore had been released, with the usual emphatic caveats regarding access and care. Captain Archer had claimed, reasonably enough, that he had boarded the Vulcan ship in hope of being able to render assistance. What he had found was a ship full of mindlessly aggressive ‘zombies’ (the text naturally didn’t use that particular word, but the description could hardly admit of any other term) whom he could neither reason with nor save. In the end, the only way he had been able to save himself and the rest of his boarding party was to have his tactical officer Lieutenant Reed initiate a process that effectively doomed the ship to destruction.

 _Enterprise_ ’s Denobulan doctor had testified (and it had been accepted even by the Vulcan delegation to the inquiry) that the crew on board the _Seleya_ had already been fatally damaged by the trellium with which they had coated the hull. They were already dying. That, however, did not constitute any form of defense for actually causing their demise. The High Command had initially demanded that both Archer and Reed be tried for murder.

Hicks, perusing the documents in the first of the files, had shaken his head on reading this. It was quite inconceivable that however inexplicably determined the Vulcans were to hoist the _Enterprise_ officers on a gallows, they would imagine a charge of murder would stick; their own delegation had accepted that Archer’s initial aim had been to carry out a rescue, not a massacre. He could only assume that it had been made in order for them to ‘agree’ to accepting a trial on a lesser charge. And even then, he felt, they were on shaky ground.

Starfleet, to do them justice, had dug their heels in. Presumably there was enough evidence to justify an Article 32 investigation and a hearing to determine whether to prosecute and what the charges would be. If murder was not an option (and he could hardly imagine any way it would be), that left manslaughter – voluntary or involuntary.

He hadn’t had nearly enough time to read through everything he would need to gain a thorough grasp of before the investigation proper began. So he couldn’t place a bet either way on which it would be, if indeed it went that far. Personally he was of the opinion the case was more likely to be thrown out on its ear before it ever got near a court-house.

The one thing that was nagging him as the transport drew up at the gatehouse of the high security brig where Reed was being held was that three out of the four people from _Enterprise_ who had boarded the _Seleya_ were still available to face charges, but only two were mentioned in the documents. True, the third was a Vulcan herself and therefore presumably under Vulcan jurisdiction. It might well be that they intended to charge her separately in a Vulcan court. But still, it felt vaguely odd that there was no mention of her in the formal papers…

The team’s documentation was in order; for today, he had only brought along Ensign Jenny Walters, one of his experienced aides, to take care of the paperwork and do any errand-running he might require at any point. After the usual delay while IDs and authorizations were checked and passes issued, he and Jenny were escorted inside and, rather to his surprise, taken to a private room down one of the corridors rather than the usual client/attorney interview room marked on the floor so that visitors could find their own way to it.

He’d been here before, of course, but this was easily the most sensitive case he’d ever been given. The name _Enterprise_ was still resounding in the halls of fame. Until or unless it actually came to a court-martial, and possibly even then, Starfleet was absolutely desperate to keep the whole affair under wraps. If the media got so much as a sniff of the idea that the ‘hero of the Expanse’ and one of his most senior officers were being investigated on criminal charges, the fallout would be incalculable.

Guards with side-arms checked their ID passes before they were admitted to the room. The interview room itself was a long area, the two sides of it carefully separated so that no contact between prisoners and visitors was possible, except in one of the line of cubicles down the middle. All of these were divided by a sheet of Plexiglas so that client and attorney could see one another while seated opposite each other in the chairs provided. Each pair of cubicles was protected from those on either side by opaque dividing walls, affording some privacy. Telephone lines provided audio communication – just in case of accidents, the dividing wall was thick and solid.

On this occasion, however – presumably to facilitate keeping Reed’s presence and identity the closely-guarded secret it was, because if he was brought into a shared area when other prisoners were being interviewed he could be seen by them – the interview was taking place in a separate room. There was no divider or phone, just a stout and well-secured chair on the far side of the heavy table, to which the prisoner would be handcuffed during the interview. 

The door on the far side of the room opened and the prisoner was brought in. For the duration of his movement through areas where he might be seen by other inmates, Reed had been forced to walk not only handcuffed but blindfolded, his head and shoulders covered by a bag of linen thick enough to hide his face but loose enough not to impede his breathing in any way. It was not removed until he was guided to sit in the chair where he would be interviewed, and his handcuffs secured to it. Then the guard lifted the hood competently from his head and stepped back to where a glass partitioned area allowed him to monitor events out of earshot.

The files had contained Reed’s official photograph and a brief biography and he had featured in the televised broadcasts that celebrated _Enterprise_ ’s return to Earth, so Hicks was perfectly prepared for what he would look like. At a guess he would be confused, alarmed, anxious for reassurance. Apart from the obligatory legal formulae, which could not be omitted, Ken was ready with the standard assurances that his defense was in good hands. That was the first and most important thing a defendant needed to hear.

The officer who emerged from beneath the linen was not quite what he had expected. He was not confused, not alarmed and not – at first glance – anxious for reassurance. He was _furious._

But nothing of the blaze in his eyes carried through into his voice when he spoke.

“Who the hell are you and what am I doing here?” the quiet English voice asked in a tone so insolent it teetered on insubordination. “And where is Captain Archer?”

Controlling his irritation at this very unmilitary conduct from a Starfleet officer who had undoubtedly sized up his rank and role in one single, summing glance, Ken introduced himself with formal courtesy. Under the circumstances, a small amount of leeway could be extended.

A _small_ amount. Reed was a Starfleet officer and should behave as such, no matter what the provocation to forget it.

“I imagine Captain Archer is also under some form of restriction at present, Lieutenant,” he added politely. “As you and he are co-defendants, he will of course be under orders not to attempt to communicate with you in any way.”

The pupils in the narrowed gray eyes contracted. “Co-defendant? On what charge?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

“That has still to be established.” Ken explained about the process that had to follow in order to decide if a Court Martial was appropriate. “The investigation centers around his actions and yours when you were aboard the _Seleya_ – actions which resulted in the deaths of a number of Vulcan citizens.”

There was no bluster. Reed simply blinked, as though trying to fit the accusation into any reasonable universe and not managing very well.

“We tried to save them,” he said at last. “We only just got out of there alive, but we tried!”

“So the original investigation concluded, I believe. But the Vulcan High Command are not satisfied with that verdict. They have requested that a second investigation be carried out and charges brought against you based on its findings.”

There was rage there, but it was contained. Instead of exploding, Reed curled his lip with ineffable British scorn: “ _Rubbish._ ” And he dropped his arms to his sides (one of them somewhat hampered by the handcuff) and removed his gaze to a cold and infinite distance.

“Lieutenant. I sympathize with your feelings, but I am here to help you. Your best chance of justice is to co-operate with me.”

Reed glanced back at him. An odd half-smile flickered across his face, and then with a swift reversal of attitude he leaned forward, now all wolfish attention.

“I apologize, sir.” Every trace of expression had been excised from his voice; it was as cold as the hostile eyes that saw him as much an enemy as the rest of the world. “I’ll co-operate fully from now on.”

 _I’m on your side, you damned fool!_ But if ever the time and place came for saying that – for _yelling_ it, if needs be – then this wasn’t it. Yet.

He’d talked on more than one occasion to clients who simply didn’t listen, and some who simply didn’t understand. As he went on to detail what else needed to be discussed and done, he couldn’t complain that this particular client wasn’t listening, and for sure he understood what was being said. That total, all-but unblinking attention was so intent it was slightly unnerving.

But for all that the bio had led him to expect a very correct and proper English officer, still in a corner of his mind he couldn’t help the faint, crawling feeling that something rather different was watching him from the other side of the table. The gray stare was off-putting – too calculating, too predatory. Perhaps after the voyage in the Expanse it was possible that the lieutenant was far from mentally stable enough to be wholly responsible for his actions – a possibility that the attorney filed neatly away for consideration later, when it might possibly come in useful.

And when the interview was over and both of them had taken a perfectly proper and polite farewell of each other, he knew exactly what Jenny meant when she said, in a voice that wasn’t quite as steady as it normally was, “Sir, I’m so glad to be out of there!”


	11. Chapter 10: T'Pol

It was very early morning. She was sitting alone in the apartment that had been allocated to her (quite a palatial one, situated in the wing of one of the High Command’s administration buildings) when her communicator chirped.

Her personal device was a rather more sophisticated one than the type used as standard by Starfleet officers. Her communicator from _Enterprise_ was still back at T’Les’s house, since she had fully expected to return there to take her farewells of her mother and collect what remained of her things before returning to duty on the ship. Now, however, events had intervened to make it uncertain whether she would ever see _Enterprise_ again.

The caller, whoever it was, was apparently not listed among her contacts. In the circumstances, when she needed all the peace she could contrive in order to continue the agonizing over what her next actions should be, she would ordinarily have denied the call. However, though her thumb hovered briefly over the ‘reject’ icon, she changed her mind just before she touched it. Illogical as it might be to be glad of something which had the potential to be an irritation, the interruption would provide a welcome break from the endless indecision in which she was still locked.

To whom did she owe her greatest loyalty – her captain or her mother? 

If she betrayed the one in the effort to save the other, and despite her testimony Archer somehow contrived to escape, then the enraged High Command might decide she had not tried hard enough and destroy T’Les regardless. And quite certainly her own chances of a commission in Starfleet (which would almost certainly have been forthcoming after her services during the Xindi crisis) would be at an end either way, though she had tried her hardest to put that consideration aside. To be sure, in that case she _could_ swallow her pride and appeal to her husband for support – she could imagine the satisfied magnanimity with which he would offer it, though even now the mental images this conjured up were enough to make her clench her fists and swear _Never!_

The display did not identify the caller, which was strange. Moreover, one of its warning icons was flashing: the incoming transmission was encrypted.

It would be usual for messages from Starfleet to be encrypted, but they would usually declare an identifier, which would appear superimposed on the official blue and silver logo of the organization. This call had no name, number or logo.

It would be the work of moments to switch on her own encryption program, but it was beyond belief that there would be no recording devices at work in the apartment. Even if this proved to be an entirely innocent call (unlikely, given that it was encrypted, but not impossible) she had no intention of sharing it with the High Command.

The device came with a number of brief auto-responses. She selected one and thumbed it, even while saying aloud, and sharply, “I am still on leave. Please contact me again when I return to the ship.”

Now she had ten minutes in which to locate herself in an area where she could hold a private conversation.

Difficult. Admittedly there were gardens outside where she could walk (spare and elegant, if not particularly lush, given that water was a precious commodity on arid Vulcan), but there were armed guards outside her door and it would be unlikely they would keep a polite enough distance not to overhear what she might discuss. Even though she had not – as yet – been charged with anything, the authorities were clearly taking no chances; she was going to be kept under close watch until she made a decision. Presumably T’Les was being kept under surveillance too, if probably not so open and obvious. If her daughter made the wrong choice, the net would fall…

It went without saying that her communicator signals would be intercepted. Vulcan spyware technology was so advanced that she probably would not be safe even in the sonic shower, whose high frequency sound waves had at first been even more successful than the sound of running water in disguising conversation from listening ears.

Nevertheless…

Service alongside Commander Tucker had honed her engineering skills as well as developing a facility for devising unorthodox solutions. It did not take her long to break open the communicator and establish the frequency at which the illicit transceiver (there was always going to be one inside) was operating.

There was a service panel alongside the shower. Without the correct tools it was a little difficult to get into, but not impossible. Aware of time ticking away, she carefully adjusted the shower’s frequency so that in close proximity the two would create a feedback loop.

It would not take long for whoever was monitoring to adjust one or both of them accordingly so that service would be resumed. She would estimate sixty seconds, depending on how long it took to realize what was happening, track down the appropriate control settings in the system and make the required changes.

Sixty seconds was not long, but a great deal would depend on who was on the other end of the call…

She had a little over one and a half minutes left before her preparations were complete. She closed the control panel, removed her clothes and inserted the ear defenders. She would remove one of them if and when the communication began – the cleansing frequency was supposed to be harmless to hearing anyway, although defenders were worn as a precaution. Depending on the volume and pitch of the feedback, it would probably make hearing less than optimum even for her, even with the device held to her ear to block out the disruption, but there seemed little alternative.

With the seconds now counting down, she took a deep breath and stepped to the shower cubicle, switching on her communicator as she entered it. Instantly the faint but unmistakable shrill of the feedback began, and almost in the same moment the communicator vibrated.

She opened it, removing the ear defender, and pressed it to her ear. “T’Pol.”

“Sub-commander, can you speak freely?” She recognized the voice: Ensign Sato.

“No.”

“Are you in danger?”

“No.” Not precisely accurate, but for the present – as long as she was a potential witness for the prosecution – she was safe enough. If she decided not to co-operate, the situation would undoubtedly change rapidly.

“We can’t contact the captain or Lieutenant Reed. Are they in danger?”

“Yes.”

“Is it something to do with the Xindi?”

“Not directly.”

“Are Starfleet aware of it?”

“Yes.”

“Should we contact the civil authorities?”

“No.”

“Can we help you?”

“No.”

A tiny pause. She imagined Sato biting her lip, trying to phrase questions in such a way that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ answer would produce useful information.

“Would it be helpful if we contacted Admiral Forrest?”

“No.”

“Are any of the rest of us in danger?”

“No.” Although some of Captain Archer’s actions later in the mission had been not merely immoral but completely illegal and therefore anyone who had aided and abetted him could theoretically be prosecuted as accessories, the thrust of the campaign concerned the events aboard the _Seleya_. If Soval’s information was correct this was being driven by relatives of the dead crew, and however much Vulcan’s ruling body might hold up their hands in horror at torture, theft and murder, the captain had not employed any of those against Vulcan citizens or allies on later occasions. In hindsight it was just as well that problems during the attempt to collect trellium ore for their own use on _Enterprise_ had prevented Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather from flying the shuttle to the doomed ship, else it was wholly possible that the High Command’s vindictiveness might have seized the opportunity to spread the accusations to them as well, however slight their involvement might have been.

“Do not attempt to contact me again.” She closed the call. At a guess her last couple of replies had been detectable, but her words were hardly a mine of information, and hopefully Ensign Sato would take warning from her final words. More calls would increase the High Command’s suspicions and T’Pol’s danger, and quite possibly spread the risk to whoever was trying to communicate. It was unlikely that anyone would ask questions about the call as it stood (after all, there were certain difficulties in asking ‘Why did you make sure we couldn’t eavesdrop on your conversation?’) but until she had declared herself one way or the other they would be most unhappy about her receiving contact from anyone in the outside world.

As for what the results of the call would be, she could only hope that she had said enough to alert the ensign to the danger of pursuing enquiries. Sato was not acting alone – she had specifically said ‘we’ – but given that for the present everything was being carried out in the utmost secrecy, neither Starfleet nor the High Command would be pleased by any of the remaining _Enterprise_ officers becoming involved.

She could not quite suppress the unworthy hope that she was right in suspecting who else might be behind this strange call. Ensign Sato certainly had the expertise to make it, but was she likely to have simply decided that her inability to reach Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed when they were officially on leave was so suspicious that she ought to contact the ship’s XO in so markedly guarded a fashion? Without doubt the linguist had known or suspected the conversation would not be private. The encryption might protect the electronic signal, but prompting answers that could provide little or no information to any listener was a precaution that proved she was already aware that things were not well on Vulcan.

T’Pol sighed, leaned out to rest the communicator on the nearby shelf and changed the settings on the shower. High powered jets of air struck her body, removing the dirt and shed skin cells that the high frequency sound pulses would have detached. Suction pulled them into the floor grating. It was not perhaps as pleasurable as the water showers she had become accustomed to aboard _Enterprise_ , but it worked, and there was no need to towel oneself dry afterwards.

But when she stepped out into the room again and dressed in clean clothing, she was no nearer a solution to her predicament.

To whom should she be loyal – to her mother or to her captain?


	12. Chapter 11: Archer

It felt as if he were living in some kind of alternate reality.

If Phlox had been available to be his confessor, he might have admitted how his own helplessness was gnawing away at his nerves. He might even have admitted to being unable to sleep and asked for help – whatever the hell was going on, he needed to be at the top of his game to deal with it. As it was, he reminded himself grimly that he’d become used to dealing with far less than the usual requirement of rest during the months of searching for the Xindi. Some days back then he’d thought it was only coffee and blind determination that had gotten him through it, and even when he’d finally dragged himself away from the control room and the endless hours of speculation, calculation and data studying he’d stumble into bed craving for oblivion only to lie there staring hot-eyed into the darkness for hours on end, feeling the weight of the mission bearing down on his shoulders till the bones of his soul cracked.

His initial meeting with his JAG attorney, a Commander Ralph Sinclair, hadn’t improved matters much. Sinclair was a second-generation Scot, whose square face was slightly softened by a magnificent set of beard and whiskers. As these were pure white he might have looked a little like Santa Claus, but there was nothing soft about him, and his very blue eyes had a piercing glitter. His bearing was so rigidly military that part way through the interview Archer had found a part of his mind wondering idly if the guy’s spinal column could actually bend.

Still, there was no doubting the commander’s competence or his determination. And without holding out any guarantees (not that Jon would have accepted them if he had), he’d seemed confident enough that there was a lot the defense counsel could work with.

 _Starting with the fact the whole thing’s a pack of damned nonsense_ , the captain would have said, but right then he was concentrating on keeping control of himself and giving his complete attention to what he was being told. If he’d once started to say what he thought about the situation he couldn’t have guaranteed he’d have kept a hold of his temper.

The more he’d thought about it, the more ridiculous the whole thing appeared. Setting aside for the time being the fact that but for _Enterprise_ ’s success Vulcan would sooner or later have been just one more of the worlds swallowed by the expanding Delphic Expanse, and the High Command were guilty of staggering ingratitude on that score, he simply couldn’t get his brain around the fact that somebody – anybody at all – could seriously believe that he’d deliberately caused the deaths of the poor wretches aboard the _Seleya_.

He regretted their deaths; that went without saying. It had been a cruel discovery that the only way to get his own people off the doomed ship was to condemn it to a premature end, though from a starkly practical point of view it was maybe just as well that it hadn’t been left to be found by any of the pirates who made a living in the Expanse – there wasn’t just whatever of value the Vulcans might have left intact, there was the technology too, and it was a mission imperative in wartime to deny any technology to the enemy. The Xindi must have been pretty technologically advanced anyway to be able to build and deliver a weapon that could destroy Earth, but regardless of that, he couldn’t have taken the risk of giving them anything else that might strengthen their war capability any further. If the ship couldn’t have been gotten back into working order he’d have had to order it blown to smithereens once any possible rescues had been carried out.

As for the Vulcans aboard, even though Phlox said the poor bastards were long past saving, they’d been alive; they wouldn’t have wanted to die. He’d tried to comfort himself that in their rational minds they wouldn’t have wanted to live in that state, but the trellium had put an end to any hope of being rescued from it.

Once, a long time ago, when he’d been helping out at home by painting a window frame, a spider had jumped out of a crack in it just as he dabbed the paintbrush down. What could you do? You couldn’t pick the poor creature up and wash it in turpentine. But he’d hesitated for a long moment before he reversed the brush and put the spider out of its misery, and afterwards some of the joy had gone out of the task.

And now someone, somewhere, believed – or said they believed – that he’d actually _wanted_ the _Seleya_ ’s crew to die.

Legal processes were always agonizingly slow. However hard patience came to him, he had to simply wait for the wheels to turn; there were processes. ‘Pretrial conferences’ – meetings between defense and prosecution, meetings between his and Malcolm’s attorneys. Each side cautiously weighing each other up, testing to find out the negotiable areas. Each meeting seeming to achieve nothing but dragging out the interminable wait.

Sinclair, asking questions, endless questions, so that even though for hours of the day he’d wished for the guy to arrive to break the monotony and bring some hope of progress, barely moments after his arrival he was wishing himself alone again.

The latest visit had been that morning, and had been the longest and most exhausting yet. His attorney had made him go through, step by step, checking and re-checking every detail, everything that had happened from the moment _Enterprise_ received the automated distress call from the _Seleya_ to the moment they’d returned to the ship and he’d had to run full-pelt to Sickbay pushing a gurney with a raving XO trying to get off it and strangle him. “We need to have your version of the events, Captain,” the attorney explained levelly. “Written reports, even by the participants, tend to be filtered by the participant. Going through it with you in person will help me prepare the nuts and bolts of the defense.”

Grimly Jon recognized that this was undoubtedly something that he’d have to endure in court – if it got that far – so it was good practice in keeping his temper, even when the guy went over and over some apparently superficial point as if somehow trying to catch him out in a lie.

Then he’d had him describe, in minute detail, everything he could remember about Malcolm’s actions on board the _Seleya_. Then, as smoothly as a snake, the incriminating question slipped in: ‘ _In your opinion, based on your years of experience as a commanding officer, did Lieutenant Reed fail to exercise due care?’_

Yeah. Sure. The Malcolm Reed who’d put himself on report if he left out the period at the end of a routine departmental performance summary.

“No,” he’d snapped.

_‘I’ll ask you to consider, Captain, if it’s possible that Lieutenant Reed simply felt that less ‘straightforward’ avenues of escape held out less guarantee of safety, and deliberately manipulated events to leave only the one option available?’_

Yeah. Sure. The Malcolm Reed who’d looked at him in horror when he ordered ‘necessary’ torture, who’d recoiled when he ordered ‘necessary’ theft.

“No. It’s not.”

_‘Based on your observations since you took him on as the Tactical Officer aboard, would you say that Lieutenant Reed has occasionally displayed a somewhat ‘cavalier’ attitude to the use of weapons? Have you ever thought, shall we say, he’s a little too eager to “shoot first and ask questions later”?’_

Riled, he’d automatically gone to deny it. Malcolm might be borderline paranoid about having his precious weapons kept ‘shipshape and Bristol fashion’ and prompt enough to use them when ordered to, but though he was invariably happy about shooting inanimate objects, the day he’d been ordered to destroy the defenseless Xindi monitoring station he’d sat there afterwards with a face like gray granite, not uttering a word. But then treacherous memories intruded of how often he’d had to rein in the guy’s enthusiasm for toting weapons everywhere they went, even down to gently sidestepping his suggestion of using explosives to blow open the hatch of the drifting Axanar ship before trying the unlocking handles.

He’d hesitated. And that hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. The attorney had made a note on his pad.

It hadn’t dawned on him at first where all these questions were leading. From the start, he’d taken it for granted that he and Malcolm would be mounting a joint defense. Then, when it did, he’d almost exploded with disgusted fury: “You want to try and get me off by _blaming my tactical officer?_ ”

“For the purposes of the enquiry, Captain, my ethical obligation is to raise all defenses possible for my client, including shifting blame to where it belongs,” Sinclair had replied calmly. 

“You see these?” Jon had almost yelled at him, pointing to the rank pips on his uniform – even though he was temporarily ‘relieved of duty’, still he found a perverse pleasure and a kind of comfort in wearing his flight suit every day. “These mean ‘the buck stops here’! Whatever Reed did, he did because _I gave the orders!_ ”

“I admire your loyalty, Captain, but there is always a possibility that in the heat of the moment even the most devoted officer can exceed his remit.”

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “You can forget it. It was my responsibility to take him there and whatever else happened, he was there because of me. And I’ll testify on his behalf in front of any Court Martial you wind up representing me to.”

Sinclair looked back at him. Incongruously framed by the Santa Claus hair and beard, the stare was suddenly that of a basilisk.

“Then, Captain, I believe there are certain consequences of that action you need to take into consideration.” A tiny, ominous pause. “Bring your toothbrush with you when we go to court.”

=/\=

Long after Sinclair had left, Jon sat there motionless, not even bothering to put on the lights as dusk gathered and darkened.

The attorney had done his job of sowing the seeds of discord. He probably knew something of the fetid silt he had had to disturb in order to do so, but he could go home happy the deed was done.

Reed was no saint, Jon told himself. He’d shown that in the Expanse, committed mutiny against his captain and gotten away with it; the episode had been passed over during the investigation with hardly a murmur, as if it didn’t matter at all that the whole cadre of his senior officers had taken his command from him and seen him brought low by a squirt of damned Insectoid jello.

They hadn’t understood. None of them had, none of them possibly _could_ have understood, what it had been like to carry that weight on your shoulders. It had been easy for Malcolm to show the horror he felt at the orders that had made him an accessory first to torture, then piracy and finally murder; what did he think it felt like to actually be the one who had to _give_ those orders? Sure it was easy to hold up your unbloodied hands when it wasn’t you who had to lose a little more of your soul with every step further away from what was morally permissible. When it wasn’t you who had to look at the guy you’d given the orders to and remember that every time your eyes locked.

But for all his damned ‘professionalism’, Reed still hadn’t been able to hold it together completely. That stupid fight with Hayes, the two of them acting like kids in kindergarten! What the hell had gotten into the guy? Didn’t he _get_ it, how imperative it had been for the two of them to get along? How difficult it was for their teams to learn to cooperate when they saw their department heads beating the shit out of each other? Did he just _have_ to make the results of his completely unprofessional feud with a fellow officer into one more problem to dump on the shoulders of a CO who already had more than enough?

And as if all that wasn’t enough, somehow it seemed that he’d slipped into the vacant place as Trip’s best buddy too. Sure, there had been that business with the cogenitor, and that had done damage, but – somehow, they would have got over that. Time healed most things, and Trip knew how badly he’d been out of line. Sooner or later he’d have come around.

But it seemed that was no longer an option. Now instead of seeing Trip alone most days as he made his way to the captain’s mess – waiting, perhaps, for the jerk of the head that said _C’mon, what are you waiting for? –_ he was more likely to see his chief engineer sitting opposite his head of Tactical. They weren’t always talking, but more often than not they were, and with an ease that brought into harsh focus his own complete inability to make the reserved Brit open up about anything.

Even as he found himself dwelling on these dark thoughts, Jon had the grace to feel ashamed of himself. Set against the devoted service Malcolm had given him in every other way, he couldn’t help but be aware these were pretty pitiful excuses for turning on the guy.

However, _if_ it became necessary…

 _‘That’s what it may come down to, Captain.’_ Sinclair’s voice echoed darkly in his ears. _‘Him or you.’_


	13. Chapter 12: Reed

“No, sir.” Malcolm’s voice was as civil and as final as a death sentence. “I don’t have any comment to make on whether Captain Archer was still harbouring resentment against the Vulcans when he ordered the boarding party. I can only comment on his actions, which were those of an honourable and compassionate officer attempting to rescue a ship in distress belonging to one of Earth’s allies, at extreme personal risk to himself.”

His attorney sighed almost inaudibly, which the Englishman noted with satisfaction. With any luck he was finally coming around to the realisation that not today, not tomorrow, and not on any day ending with a Y would Lieutenant Malcolm Reed be improving his chances of surviving a court martial by attempting to shift any of his ‘guilt’ onto his commanding officer. Although naturally aware of the infamous ‘Prisoner’s Dilemma’, which listed the options and outcomes for betrayal or co-operation and theorised that the former offered a greater reward than the latter, he had stated from the outset – and still maintained – his refusal to believe that the captain would betray him, and therefore there was no way he would even consider betraying the captain.

They’d gone over the evidence presented to the Starfleet inquiry, which had included his own recorded logs as a Head of Department. Malcolm could with the clearest of consciences state that he had nothing to question and nothing to add. He had recorded events as plainly and honestly as he could, and despite having had more than enough time to think up several billion additions and deletions he could have made if he’d given his imagination free rein, he was happy with what he’d said.

 _‘Fiat justitia, ruat cælum.’_ ‘Let justice be done, though the heavens should fall.’ It was a Latin tag he was fond of. He regretted nothing he’d done aboard _Seleya_ , though he still wished it was possible to get some certainty over whether or not somebody (either himself or T’Pol) had made a mistake over the sequence of the actuator circuits. He was as certain as he could be that he’d placed them exactly as she’d told him to, but then he wasn’t vain enough to think he was incapable of making a mistake, however much he deplored the possibility.

The sigh, however, was not an admission of resignation but merely the first gust of a hurricane heading directly for him. Next moment it burst directly over him.

“Lieutenant Reed, as your defense attorney appointed by my office I have a duty to try to do everything in my power to persuade the judge at the hearing to dismiss the case, or if worse comes to worst, to defend you if it comes to a trial.

“Having studied the files, I’ll tell you frankly that in my opinion the argument that you, a scrupulous, by-the-book officer, failed to exercise due care when following the orders of a senior officer is ludicrous. All the evidence I’ve been able to gather says that if _anyone_ would follow orders exactly, it’s you.

“How on earth could the prosecution prove ‘failure to exercise due care’? You were on a foreign nation’s ship, handling unfamiliar technologies and instruments in a foreign language while the crew of that same ship have become murderously insane, incapable of reason, and are trying to kill the people who are trying to rescue them. What motive would you have? None. You try to do your best at everything. Obsessively so.”

Malcolm was still trying desperately to think of some way to discredit himself when the attorney continued. “Captain Archer, on the other hand, is depicted in these files as more of an independent operator with a big ego. He doesn’t pay nearly enough attention to the advice of his senior staff; if there’s a clash of opinion he thinks he’s in the right. He has to be, he’s the son of Henry Archer, the inventor of the Warp 5 engine. _And_ he knows that it was the Vulcans who held his father’s engine back for so long his father never got to see it fly.

“So, it could be argued that Archer _did_ have a motive.”

The lieutenant felt as if he were choking. Some of it was rage at what felt like egregious disrespect to the captain he served, but some of it was the clamour of honesty demanding recognition of the truth. How could he refute the unpalatable facts when he heard them flung at him?

“I applaud your loyalty to him, Lieutenant. In a lot of ways, it’s admirable. But your and your fellow-officers’ blind loyalty damn near cost the mission when you were too reluctant to challenge his behavior over the Xindi Insectoid hatchlings. Now, I don’t want to be the officer on watch when you flush your career down the toilet for the same cause.”

His attorney slowed his breathing, narrowed his eyes, his face losing all emotion, and leaned towards him. If the table between them hadn’t been too wide to permit it, he would have been right in Malcolm’s face. 

In a voice as cold as ice, and as hard as steel, he ground out, “Lieutenant, let me explain this procedure to you in no uncertain terms, so that even you, with your British stiff upper lip, can understand it. Your Captain’s attorney is right now explaining the facts of life to him: that his career, his freedom, his reputation, and everything he has worked for his entire life are about to be destroyed by the actions one of his officers. _You_ , Lieutenant. Do you think he’s going to give a shit about you when he’s about to lose everything he’s ever worked for? He’s the son of Henry Archer! Not only would a conviction on these charges destroy _his_ reputation, but by association, it would taint and disgrace his deceased father’s.

“If you think for a second that Archer would not sacrifice you to save his father’s name and reputation, then you’re delusional. This has nothing to do with honor or compassion, this is all about the Vulcans finding a scapegoat to butcher for the death of the _Seleya_ ’s crew, and to appease the families of those dead crew members, whether it be you or Archer. This has nothing to do with justice and honor. This is all about _vengeance_.

“This is a gun fight, and you want me to bring a knife to it. If you can’t figure that out, then maybe you need different counsel.”

Years of Section training enabled Malcolm to hold that menacing stare without flinching, but behind his unmoved front, he felt as if he’d opened his eyes to find himself standing on the lip of a crevasse. His pulse, that had been steady enough before, was suddenly thumping with adrenaline.

Time was when he’d have treated Hicks’ dire warnings with the scorn they would have deserved, but that was before … _out there._ Before intolerable pressure had changed Archer into a very different man from the Boy Scout explorer who’d taken _Enterprise_ out on her maiden voyage of discovery.

Pressure and heat transforms carbon into diamond. The demands of surviving the Expanse and finding the Weapon had transformed Jonathan Archer too, or maybe they’d just stripped away some of the camouflage from his flaws.

Even now, Malcolm wanted to believe that on his own account, the captain would refuse to offer up his officer to save himself – though he was far from as sure of it as he’d once been. But he realised with a shock of fear and self-disgust that he’d simply never even thought about the ramifications of a successful conviction on Henry Archer’s reputation.

It was common knowledge throughout Starfleet that from boyhood, Archer’s father had been his own private god. According to Trip, almost the whole basis of his resentment against the Vulcans was that their lack of co-operation had meant that Henry Archer had never got to see his Warp 5 engine move off the drawing boards and into a starship. It had certainly explained the way he’d behaved towards T’Pol when she first came on board, though in fairness her arrogance and barely-veiled insolence to start with would have antagonised a saint.

If, somehow, by some cruel turn of fate, the son was convicted of a crime he hadn’t committed, it wouldn’t only be his reputation that was ruined. The shame would spread to his father. And that, Jonathan Archer would never allow.

Honour and loyalty were the twin gods of the Reed household; Malcolm had been brought up to regard them as the lodestones of his life. So it took the merest step of the imagination to perceive that the captain’s god was just as demanding a deity. With the cold horror of certainty he realised that whatever regret there might be over the fate of the sacrificial victim, there would be no hesitation in bringing the knife down if he was the offering required.

It was plain that however little his expression might have given away, his shocked silence had told Hicks the blows had punched straight through his defences – just as they had been intended to do. But for those timely and well-chosen words, he’d have buckled on his plate armour, mounted his white steed, levelled his lance and ridden straight into the teeth of a full spread of photon torpedoes in the courtroom.

“I have some more meetings to attend this afternoon,” the attorney said, gathering up his things. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, if you decide you still want me to represent you. I hope in the meantime you’ll think about what I’ve said.”

Malcolm roused from his paralysis. “Thank you, sir,” he responded. It was beyond him to put any warmth into the words; right now he felt as if the lifeline he’d been clinging to since this whole nightmare began had suddenly manifested itself as the anchor chain of the _Titanic_. But the other man’s gaze had changed subtly. It was still hard, but there was a hint of understanding and even approval there. At a guess, he was relieved the crazy Brit had finally decided to wake up and smell the roses.

The interview being terminated, the inevitable guard approached to hood him for return to his cage. As the linen dropped over his head, Malcolm almost welcomed it blocking from his sight a world that was about to make him an apostate.

Loyalty was his god.

But if all the faith he’d accumulated over the past three years had been misplaced after all, it would not save him from Jonathan Archer.


	14. Chapter 13: Phlox

Doctor Phlox was, at that moment, about as close to ‘blissful’ as it was physically possible for him to be.

Denobulans in general were inclined to take the cheerful view of life whenever possible, and Phlox was an optimist even by Denobulan standards.

He had enjoyed the visit to Madam Chang’s in San Francisco and renewing his acquaintance with her renowned egg-drop soup, which had been every bit as delicious as he remembered. But the disturbance in the bar had upset him, and the persistent manifestations of xenophobia had made him uncomfortable. It had been the ideal solution when he’d heard of the refit being carried out to the medical center on Jupiter Station. Until the repairs to _Enterprise_ were completed he could hide himself away – to use the strange Human idiom, ‘as snug as an insect in a carpet’ – and be both safe and happy, catching up on the latest research in between contributing his expertise in alternative medicine to the medical staff there. In what spare time he had he could even manage to resume his correspondence with his old friend Doctor Lucas, which had suffered sadly during the months in the Expanse.

He’d naturally considered going back to Denobula for a visit to catch up with his wives and extended family, and that would have been splendid too. But his home planet was a long way distant, and not all of his wives were there at present. All things considered, it seemed a better use of his time to retreat to the comforts of Jupiter Station; so that was what he had done, and was supremely happy in the company of several other doctors who were equally broad-minded in their opinions.

Today had begun as a day like any other. He had been given the use of one of the new laboratories, where he settled down with a set of slides and a marvelous new neutron microscope which he was more than inclined to believe his dear Feezal would have been involved in designing.

His work was absorbing, of course, but from time to time he noticed in passing that the assistants who were also working there were oddly inexpert. Perhaps they were trainees, but they seemed clumsy in handling the instruments and seemed to take an inordinate interest in the contents of their PADDs or even in their surroundings rather than what was on the table in front of them.

Still, security on the station was high, so they would not have been admitted unless they had Starfleet clearance. And it wasn’t as if they had appeared out of nowhere one day; they were there on quite a regular basis. Phlox reminded himself charitably that everyone had to start somewhere, and resumed his study of the slides.

He was about to start documenting his findings when the door hissed open. This was not exactly an unusual event, but one of the assistants glanced around nevertheless. And suddenly – far too much so for Phlox to see exactly where it had come from – there was a gun in his hand, and the laboratory was crisscrossed by plasma fire.

Phlox would never have described himself as heroic. He knew when discretion was the better part of valor and flung himself under cover – in this case, the nearby table. Nevertheless, he grabbed the leg of one of the stools, hoping that somebody might come close enough to get a violent and unexpected shove in the knee with it. 

There was a sudden thud behind him. He twisted around, coming almost face to face with one of the rather incompetent assistants.

He was quite dead. Half of his head was missing, the cross-section of the remaining half cauterized by the plasma blast.

There was more firing. It seemed to go on a lot longer than it probably did, but eventually there were sounds of a struggle. It ended with a short, brutal noise that sounded a lot like something breaking that wasn’t going to be mendable.

There were now three pairs of feet in the room. Phlox gripped his stool leg and hoped one of them would come closer.

Unfortunately, none of them did. He had only a few seconds to register the sight of a face looking in at him, its details largely obscured by the phase pistol leveled in front of it. Though he had time to notice the ears.

‘What on _Denobula_ do you think you’re doing?’ wouldn’t have been much by way of memorable last words, on reflection.

But he didn’t get time to utter them anyway.


	15. Chapter 14: Reed

A long night with very little sleep had worked its necessary magic.

There was a time to be a hero and a time to be a realist. And in spite of the cruel accusation that Trip had flung at him in Shuttlepod One that he was ‘trying to be a hero’, Malcolm Reed knew far too much about himself to pretend to heroism.

Heroes didn’t sign up for Section 31.

Heroes didn’t ...

He would still, without a qualm, sacrifice himself to save any of the _Enterprise_ ’s crew. Even, if it came to that, the captain who on this one occasion could not be relied on to save him. But the when the verb ‘sacrifice’ turned into a noun, it acquired a whole different meaning. It turned a voluntary act – an _honourable_ act – into allowing himself to become a victim, and there was no honour at all in that. Reeds _did not_ meekly roll onto their backs and surrender.

He still hoped with all his heart that these new and awful doubts were wrong. If he’d believed in a God he’d have prayed that they were. But in the absence of an obliging deity to whom his pleas might be addressed, he simply had to hope for the best and prepare for the worst – a worst that, if it came about, would confirm once and for all the truth of his old, bitter maxim that ‘ _Friends are people who betray you’._

Clearly pleased by finding him more co-operative, Commander Hicks told him that the bulk of the case for the defence rested on the testimony of Doctor Phlox, whose medical expertise would weigh heavily with the presiding authority in the preliminary hearing. “I can’t emphasis enough that Phlox is the key to the defense because he is the only medical expert with direct experience on the effects of trellium on Vulcan physiology,” the attorney explained.

It would also need to be brought out (in examination or cross-examination) that the Vulcans were secretive about their biology, about their technology, about their ships and about all things Vulcan, but had rarely lost an opportunity to emphasise how superior their ships were to Starfleet’s in terms of both speed and weapons.

“I think we need to press the two real, valid reasons the _Seleya_ was destroyed,” Hicks continued. “One: the Vulcan crew had become homicidally insane and _could not be saved_ according to the medical expert Dr. Phlox, whose testimony and evidence even the Vulcan ambassador had accepted; and two, it was destroyed to keep the Xindi from salvaging the Vulcan technology, which could be used against Enterprise and/or Earth to destroy it.

“Captain Archer his crew were operating under wartime conditions where any equipment that might be beneficial to the enemy is destroyed if it can’t be salvaged. If that was not actually a part of Archer’s mission statement, it would be reasonable to argue that it was _implied_ in it. Thus, destroying the Seleya was a lawful order to prevent its technology from coming into the hands of the Xindi.”

“As for the crew themselves, our line here is going to be that no crime was committed because the alleged victims, the crew of the _Seleya_ , were homicidally insane and could not be saved, as will be testified to by Dr. Phlox. Regardless of any action or inaction of yours that caused the ship to explode, the Vulcan crew was not going to survive. They were going to die, no matter what.

“So, even if the prosecution alleges, or even proves, that you failed to use due care, i.e., you were negligent in carrying out Archer’s or T’Pol’s orders or directions, there is still no crime, because that negligence did not cause the death of the crew – the trellium did. They would have not survived, regardless of anything any of you did or failed to do. They were already doomed, and not because of any action or lack of action on your part.”

A deep breath, and then he concluded. “So, we’re going to use Dr. Phlox, with his professional experience with the effects of trellium, to testify to a reasonable medical certainty, that the crew of the _Seleya_ was already too far gone upon your arrival on board the ship to be saved. In effect, the crew was already dead before you got there.”

Malcolm was quiet for a while, considering that. It effectively tied in with his already honest belief that neither he nor his colleagues had been responsible for the deaths of the doomed ship’s crew, but it was a relief to hear it said that the law was likely to take a similar view. Finally, “Sir, can I ask you a question?”

“By all means, Lieutenant.” Commander Hicks appeared glad of this unwonted outburst of curiosity.

“Given that their ambassador and the representatives who attended the investigation were apparently content with the verdict of the inquiry, have you gained any insight into why the Vulcans suddenly seem to believe they have a good chance of gaining a conviction over a crime none of us committed?”

He read the hesitation immediately. His attorney did know something, and wasn’t keen on giving out the details.

“The prosecution aren’t under any obligation to show their full hand until nearer the hearing,” the commander said at last. “But I had one of my investigators interview Ambassador Soval.”

Malcolm’s interest sharpened. He was aware that Soval had disapproved strenuously of Archer’s appointment as _Enterprise_ ’s captain, insofar as Vulcans strenuously disapproved of anything – strenuous disapproval sounded perilously like an emotion to him.

“As expected, he declined to comment on almost every one of the questions,” Hicks continued. “But he also declined to comment on whether Sub-Commander T’Pol is facing similar charges for her part in the affair.”

“She was under the influence of trellium,” Malcolm said after a moment. “She’d probably plead diminished responsibility or something. They’re hardly going to put that much effort into slaughtering one of their own people.”

The attorney’s steady regard made the space between his shoulder blades itch in the way it had used to do back in his Section 31 days when someone behind him had a weapon.

“My investigator has been in the service much longer than I have, Lieutenant, and if he says he has a ‘hunch’, I take that seriously. Granted, interviewing Vulcans is still a rarity, and Ambassador Soval would apparently make an outstanding poker player if ever he decided to take it up, but Major Guy nevertheless received the profound impression that he was extremely unhappy and uncomfortable. Which would hardly be the case if the High Command had simply decided that Sub-Commander T’Pol had no part to play in the affair.”

“She was a member of his staff. Of course he’d be upset if she was being prosecuted.” The base of Reed’s stomach had suddenly gone shockingly cold, and he controlled a betraying impulse to thrust a hand out as though pushing something away.

“Lieutenant, I don’t want to worry you, I’ve already told you that with Doctor Phlox’s evidence I hope to have the case dismissed at the Article 32 hearing, but we have to consider how dangerous it could be if she’s been persuaded to testify against you or the captain – or even both of you.”

“She wouldn’t do that. Not to Captain Archer.” For the first time since he’d been brought in here he spoke absolutely without conscious thought, and no more than what he knew to be the absolute truth. True, at the start of _Enterprise_ ’s voyage the tension between the captain and his XO had been palpable enough to have been sliced up and served on buttered toast in the Mess Hall, but slowly it had thawed into trust and friendship. It would be easier now to imagine Jonathan Archer’s own right hand turning into a cobra and attacking him than it was to imagine T’Pol taking the witness stand and lying to wreck his career and send him to prison.

As for the possibility of T’Pol helping the prosecution against himself, that was considerably less of a clear-cut issue. He’d hoped and trusted that her raging accusations over the misplaced actuators had been a product of the trellium poisoning, but the matter had never been discussed afterwards. It was more than possible that she still believed he had made a mistake, and – given that she’d never seemed quite her old logical self after the episode – also possible, if hopefully unlikely, that she believed he’d acted without sufficient care. Surely even trellium poisoning couldn’t induce her to think he’d mucked up the ordering on _purpose?_

“But you feel she might pose a danger to _you_.” The eyes in the wise, weathered face opposite him were extremely shrewd.

Malcolm was annoyed with himself for being so transparent. “It’s possible,” he said stiffly.

“Does she have reason to testify against you? Lieutenant, as I’ve already explained more than once, if I’m to defend you to the best of my ability I need to know everything the prosecution may already know. And, I need to know everything _you_ know.”

He pointed to the transcript. “Aboard the _Seleya_ she accused me of making a mistake with the actuator circuits. I may have done, I don’t think so but I may have. It’s possible she still believes I was careless.”

“And you think she may testify to that effect for revenge?”

The idea was abhorrent, but what other reason could there be? “If that’s what she’s planning to do, I suppose it must be. I honestly can’t imagine any other motive she could have.” Briefly and irreverently he wondered whether she was also contemplating a little payback for his refusal to fuck her when she was out of her head with hormones thanks to some microbe or other she and Phlox had picked up in the innocent days before Earth and Starfleet had ever even heard of the Xindi. Not that he’d have minded obliging her in the general run of things, but not when taking advantage of her offer would have been exactly that – ‘taking advantage’, in the worst of ways. Though even if he’d been enough of a bastard to be more than just fleetingly and regretfully tempted, his being in an EV suit hadn’t left him all that much capacity to oblige.

No. The idea might be worth a short, savage chuckle, but no more than that. In her right mind or out of it, there was no way whatsoever that T’Pol would stoop to such a pathetic grudge.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I think our next move is to subpoena her health records from Starfleet. If what I’ve read here is correct, Doctor Phlox’s records on his findings and treatments of her trellium addiction may be extremely useful to discredit her as a witness if they bring her in as one.”

Malcolm’s head jerked up. “Trellium _addiction?_ ”

Hicks nodded. “The doctor’s medical log was officially classified, but as its contents refer directly to the case I was allowed access to that part of it. Apparently she began experimenting with the ore shortly afterwards. She managed to keep it secret from the crew, but it reached the point where she had to ask Phlox for help to manage the effects.”

Reed laid his head in his free hand. In hindsight, he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t suspected something of the kind. Especially towards the end of the Xindi mission, the Vulcan had become more and more unstable. Prior to the battle at Azati Prime, when she should have been fulfilling her duty as the acting captain and occupying the chair, she’d been locked away in the Ready Room and at first even Trip Tucker hadn’t been able to succeed in coaxing her out. Then, for no apparent reason, she’d decided to follow Archer into apparent suicide by going to the Xindi in their remaining shuttlepod, leaving the already cruelly overburdened Chief Engineer as the senior officer on board. She’d been on her way to the launch bay when that plan of action had been cancelled by the arrival of the attacking Reptilian ships and she’d returned to the Bridge perforce; but though in all honesty there hadn’t been much anyone could have done to avert the inevitable slaughter that soon began, he’d felt dimly even then that she could have at least _said_ something, especially when their fate was written in blazing capital letters on the wall. Captain Archer would have made a valiant attempt to rally his crew’s morale, no matter how futile the words would have been. At the very least he’d have tried to make them feel he was proud of them, and that they couldn’t have done any more than they had. It might not have made being blown to pieces or shot into space and flash-frozen in hard vacuum any more enjoyable, but it would have been nice to have some kind of recognition to die with.

 _Yes, that’s the kind of a man Archer is_ , his stubborn loyalty insisted. _Not the kind to do what you’ve been talked into believing he’s going to._

 _I don’t know **what** he’s going to do, _his fear and suspicion snarled back. _I watched him torture that pirate, I watched him order the theft of that warp coil. I heard him give me the order to blow three defenceless Xindi in the listening station to Kingdom Come. Don’t tell me he’s a Boy Scout any more._

The Prisoner’s Dilemma, perfectly executed...

But a Vulcan … after she’d seen what trellium did to her comrades on the _Seleya_! Pity knew that Humans experimented with dangerous substances, often with tragic results, but didn’t Vulcans pride themselves on having more sense than illogical, volatile Humans? What the hell had made her _take_ such an insane risk, given the danger they were all in already?

“She must have been mad,” he said almost inaudibly.

“I won’t presume to comment on what it was like for any of you out there,” the commander said gently. “But I’d imagine even Vulcans have difficulty coping sometimes.”

Malcolm liked him for that. So many people seemed to think it had been just another voyage, just another mission, just a bloodless parade to victory. When the truth was that every damned moment had been lived to a background of gnawing dread and crushing responsibility that made every tiny decision into a mountain if you let yourself dwell on the possible repercussions of getting it wrong. He preferred to think that on an ordinary mission he’d have been less of an arsehole towards Hayes, for all that the bloke had made an art form out of annoying him; but with his nerves stretched to breaking point, every hint of the MACO’s apparent conviction that he knew more about what was good for the crew had been intolerable. If it had been Archer’s responsibility to find the Weapon, it had been his Head of Security’s responsibility to keep him alive long enough to do it, and that extended to the health, welfare and continued survival of every last one of the personnel on board, any one of whom might ultimately prove to be the difference between success and failure.

“I think we’ve just about used up our time for today,” Hicks continued, gathering up his PADDs. “I’ve definitely got some work to do now. Thank you for your honesty, Lieutenant.”

“You’re welcome.” The guard’s footsteps sounded behind him, and wearily Malcolm braced himself for the inevitable theft of his sight as the bag dropped over his head. Fucking Starfleet wanting him kept hidden like a dirty secret...

The guard did his job with brusque kindness, though by now Malcolm could almost have found his way back to his cell without the guiding hand on his arm. Once released into his small prison, where the bedding had been changed and the scent of lemon disinfectant prickled the air of the toilet and shower area, he did not immediately set about another round of exercises, which was his normal way of dissipating the tension these meetings engendered in him. Instead he simply sat down on the bed and for the first time allowed his shoulders to slump.

T’Pol had been a member of the V’Shar. She might have far more to reveal about him than a suspected moment of carelessness aboard the _Seleya_. True, as irrelevant to the crime for which he was being tried it would probably be ruled out of court, but once the cat was out of the bag then there was no saying which tree it would run up. And even if he got away with the charges against him as regards the _Seleya_ , his past would be blown right open. If revenge was indeed her aim, she would have it – one way or the other.

He could, of course, have revealed something of this to Commander Hicks so his defence team wouldn’t be caught unprepared if it emerged. But despite the horrible fear that in keeping silent he was setting a trap for his own feet, the old habits of secrecy regarding anything to do with the Section were as much a part of him now as his limbs. He dared not reveal that he had been a member of a Black Ops team; the existence of the Section itself was a closely-guarded secret and if T’Pol did not choose to deploy that particular weapon he’d have betrayed it for nothing – an act that could have appalling ramifications. 

But T’Pol – a _drug addict._ For all the cynicism his years in the Section had given him, the discovery gave him a surprisingly sharp pang of grief. He’d felt so much respect for her, it hurt to find that she’d been just as ‘human’ as the rest of the wretched, desperate crew dealing with the Expanse as best any of them could. Almost as much as it hurt to believe – for try as he might, he could imagine no other motive – that she was co-operating to destroy him out of revenge for something he’d never intended to happen and would have prevented if he possibly could.

Nevertheless, if she was being deployed against him, the whole disposition of the chessboard had changed. Along the hitherto vacant row of squares, the White Queen had suddenly moved into an aggressive position. The Black King was – for the moment – out of check, but the Black Knight was suddenly, appallingly vulnerable.

He raised his head and looked around the room. The window beckoned, and though it had been raining earlier on it looked as though the sun was trying to come out.

Maybe he’d better enjoy the view while he still had one.


	16. Chapter 15: Tucker

The message from Hoshi made things worse rather than better.

Sedulously using the triple-encrypted program she’d sent to his PADD, Trip had questioned her over and over again on what she made of the pathetically few replies she’d been able to get out of T’Pol before the call had been terminated. Nothing made sense!

Jon and Malcolm were in danger? So where the hell _were_ they? Too many calls to their phones would have made it obvious he suspected something, so contriving an excuse to visit HQ, he’d finally wandered casually in the direction of the suite that Jon used when he was staying over at the base. The sight of two armed MACOs outside the door swiftly made him decide that he had business elsewhere, though he tried not to make his change of plan seem too obvious.

So that was probably an answer to one of the questions. Hoshi could probably have found out contact details for Malcolm’s parents – she’d done so aboard _Enterprise_ , so it was more than likely she could hack into the ship’s systems even here – but if they weren’t already aware of their son’s danger, that would make them so and possibly complicate things even further. From things Malcolm had let fall from time to time in conversation, his father didn’t seem the type to sit back and ‘maintain radio silence’ if he thought one of his family was being treated unjustly, however much he might have disapproved of his son’s choice of career. And it wasn’t as if they were likely to know where he was either.

Now Trip leaned on the railing overlooking the harbor and heaved another gusty sigh. Something was going on and every course seemed to threaten to make bad worse. For T’Pol to actually warn against contacting a Starfleet Admiral who was known to be Jon’s loyal friend and supporter was so horrifying it made him wonder just how much trouble was actually brewing.

“I see you heeded our advice and I believe you've received information.” The gravelly voice almost made him jump. An oldish guy with short-cropped graying hair had walked up behind him without a sound and now leaned companionably on the railing beside him. “If we can pool our knowledge, we may be able to help each other out.”

“Who the hell are you?” demanded Trip.

A brief smile got nowhere near the deep-set dark eyes. “Let’s just say I’m an old acquaintance of Lieutenant Reed’s. What did you find out from Sub-Commander T’Pol?”

If it wasn’t for this guy – presumably he’d sent the messenger who’d started all this – none of them would even be aware yet there was anything wrong. Distrusting him now seemed more than a bit pointless.

“She couldn’t talk,” he blurted out. “She must have known wherever she was was bugged. Hoshi got her to answer questions.” His PADD was in the zipped inside breast pocket of his jacket – he’d gotten so paranoid by now that he was too scared to leave it in his apartment. He drew it out, hesitated for a moment, then keyed in his access code, opened the file, and handed it over.

The stranger thumbed through the information, his frown deepening, but said nothing.

“So what’s going on?”

He handed back the PADD. “Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed have been arrested.”

“WHAT?”

“As I believe you’ve already discovered for yourself, the captain is under armed guard. Reed is being held in the high-security facility at Richmond.”

“On what charges?”

“We haven’t been able to confirm the details yet, but it’s tied up with the Xindi mission. I was hoping she might be more forthcoming but maybe there’s a reason for that.”

Frustration had brought Trip’s temper close to the edge. The time when he’d been a sunny-tempered guy with a lot of patience now seemed like it had belonged to someone else’s life. And now listening to this total stranger make what sounded like a veiled attack on T’Pol was the last straw.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he snarled, turning with his fists half-clenched.

The guy looked back at him coolly. “It means, Commander, that when there’s a weak point our enemies will find it and exploit it.”

“You’re callin’ _T’Pol_ a weak point?”

“You seriously believe she _wanted_ to go through with that marriage?”

The memory and all that the question implied brought him to flashpoint. He had to hit something, so he chose the wooden railing.

For a split second he was too furious to feel the pain. Then he thought he might have broken several of his knuckles.

“You’ll need to get that checked out,” the other man observed.

“I’m fine.” He ground out the words through gritted teeth, forcing the fingers to flex and resisting the impulse to cradle them with his undamaged hand. “So is there anything we can actually _do_ about whatever the hell’s goin’ on?”

“For the time being, no.” The dark eyes stared out across the bay. “I need to make inquiries. Ultimately, we may need to play dirty to win this one.”

Trip wanted to say there was nothing that Jon or Malcolm could have done that would have gotten them thrown into a jail or confined to quarters, but there were too many horrible memories of the awful things they’d had to do in the Expanse. He himself had helped to steal the Illyrians’ warp coil. You could say till you were blue in the face that without it they’d never have completed the mission and saved not only Earth but however many other worlds as well, and that still didn’t make what they’d done legal and moral. If someone wanted to make a case, they had the grounds.

“It’s not goddamn fair,” he said at last, almost soundlessly. “We lost the best part of ourselves out there.”

“Unfortunately, Commander, what you call ‘the best part of ourselves’ is what makes us vulnerable to those who _have_ no ‘best’ parts. And while I have the highest regard for our legal representatives, I’ve always believed in not relying _completely_ on justice being done.”

Tucker stared helplessly at him. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”

“We’re on the same side, though maybe not exactly at the same angle.” The humorless smile touched his lips again. “Thank you for your help, Commander. If I need you again, I know where you are.”

“But wait a minute–!”

It was too late. The older man had already turned and was walking away. Chasing him would only draw attention to both of them, and in the circumstances that was anything but appropriate.

“Damnation!” Finally he could clasp his damaged knuckles, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around the grazes. The bruises were already blackening.

He walked back to his hotel, picking up a packet of painkillers and a takeout as he went. Shutting the front door with his foot as he walked inside, he looked around with distaste at the peeling wallpaper, the faded furniture. He’d gotten rid of the booze bottles already, but the place was still a mess. That said, it had been one when he arrived, and nothing he’d done had worsened it significantly. At the time it had just been somewhere he could shut himself away and mourn.

He was through with self-pity. Come the morning, he’d clean up as best he could and then he was out of here. He’d rent a flitter and go north; there was a beach in Richmond that was renowned for its surfing. With a bit of luck, he’d find a site that gave him a view of the distant jail – and maybe even get to do a little visiting.


	17. Chapter 16: Hicks

“I’m glad to meet you at last, Commander. You’ve been rather hard to track down.”

Tucker’s blue eyes met his pugnaciously. “I’m on shore leave. I like to go off the radar now and then.”

“Perfectly understandable. I don’t blame you.” And in fairness, he didn’t; after a voyage through hell, it was reasonable enough that the guy would want time off. Quite probably he’d need longer than he was actually likely to get – he’d started off behind the eight ball with the death of his younger sister in the Xindi attack, an event that would traumatize any human being even if their relationship with their siblings hadn’t been particularly close. At a guess he hadn’t even had time to process that properly, though without doubt Starfleet would have counselors falling over one another to assess and analyze the ship’s officers and crew and offer them whatever treatment was deemed necessary.

“You attempted to visit Lieutenant Reed in jail,” he continued mildly. “His presence there is supposed to be a closely guarded secret. May I ask how you found out where he was?”

“A guy in the street told me.”

The reply was a standard blocking tactic, but the flicker of black humor suggested it was also – however unlikely – the truth. Ken filed that away for later consideration.

“Did he also tell you why he’s in there?”

The engineer shrugged. “He said it was something about the Xindi mission. If he knew anythin’ more than that, he wasn’t sayin’.”

Hicks sat back and studied him. The lines of exhaustion were chiseled into Tucker’s face, and a mouth that had once been good-natured was set and bitter. The comparison between the photograph in his files and his current appearance illuminated starkly the dreadful toll the Expanse and his sister’s death had taken on him.

“Effectively, Commander, Lieutenant Reed is in solitary confinement, and some of this is for his own protection. Any conversation he might have with a third party is discoverable by the prosecution. Only his conversations with me are protected by Attorney/client privilege. If he spoke with you, anything you or he said could be used in evidence – against either of you.”

“What, am I next to be thrown into jail?” Tucker snapped. “You’ve got Malcolm an’ you’ve got the Cap’n, surely there’s a cell waitin’ for me somewhere?”

“You weren’t named in the allegations. If you had been, you would have been arrested the moment you revealed your identity.”

“‘Allegations’? What the hell ‘allegations’ are we talkin’ about here?” His face was flushed with anger.

Having read the files from the Starfleet inquiry – many times over by now – the attorney knew that, driven by ugly necessity as well as his captain’s orders, the chief engineer had been an accessory to piracy by aiding in the theft of a warp core from another ship. His own log as well as the captain’s had detailed it, though the drained voice dictating the day’s events had been harsh with detestation as he described what he’d done. Necessity notwithstanding, he’d still had compassion for the unfortunates whom the theft would leave stranded far from their own home world; he’d still loathed what the demands of the mission had made of both himself and Archer, moral men in a terrible situation where only immoral actions could bring them success.

Likewise, he must know that both of his fellow officers were similarly compromised. Ethically their guilt might be questionable – when the survival of Earth and billions of innocent people hung in the balance, it would undoubtedly have been a greater moral evil to save their consciences and leave Earth to its fate. But the law at its blindest didn’t deal with ethics; it wasn’t ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’ in the scales, it was ‘Lawful’ and ‘Unlawful’. And in legal terms, all three of them – and any other member of the crew who’d taken part in any of the actions that had been carefully kept secret after the inquiry concluded – had been guilty of criminal actions.

Reed, presumably, was not such a moral innocent. Starfleet instructions that he was to be imprisoned as a ‘flight risk’, in complete contrast to his official record as a loyal and honorable officer of the type who would normally be allowed the same limited freedom as his captain, suggested that matters in that quarter were not as simple as they seemed. His records prior to his service aboard _Enterprise_ were classified, and not even the requirements of the legal defense process had succeeded in opening them. Still, considering that his position of trust and responsibility would hardly have been given to a man of whose probity there was any doubt, it was surprising that he was suddenly being treated with such callousness.

And yet … recalling that first interview, and the glimpse of something quite other than the by-the-book English officer he’d expected, maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all.

“The prosecution has alleged two counts with regard to the crew of the _Seleya_ : second degree murder and voluntary manslaughter.”

The words fell into a hollow silence between them, and he watched Tucker pale.

“And T’Pol?” the commander asked at last.

The activities of the returned ‘Heroes of the Expanse’ had been of acute interest to the news media. Inevitably, Tucker’s trip to Vulcan with T’Pol had hit all the tabloids and news services, naturally generating endless speculation about a ‘relationship’ between them. The ghastly soubriquet ‘the Romance in the Expanse’ attached to a scandalous liaison between a Human and a Vulcan had been too delicious to pass up, and from that point on it had devolved into something that would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so appallingly popular a source of gossip and prurient speculation. It wasn’t the sort of thing Ken normally paid that much attention to, but even his wife had observed over breakfast one morning that they made a ‘cute couple’ and wouldn’t it be great if they ended up together.

The gossip had not subsided after the news broke of the engineer’s return alone and his ‘lover’s’ marriage to someone else. On the contrary, if anything it’d gotten worse. He was now painted as the victim of a doubly broken heart, losing first his sister and now ‘the love of his life’. From the point of view of a fellow professional, Ken hadn’t been in the slightest surprised that as the subject and victim of such a barrage of ill-founded, personal and deeply offensive garbage Tucker had opted to disappear for a while.

But nevertheless, the implication was there that he had a more than strictly formal relationship with the Vulcan with whom he served aboard _Enterprise_. As such, it could potentially have a bearing on her as a witness, so Ken wanted to know exactly why he’d gone to her home planet with her in the first place. Rumors about their relationship while in the Expanse had already started to surface (unfortunately, it seemed even members of the ship’s crew were not immune to the lure of the fabulous sums being offered for ‘insider information’ in exchange for anonymity), so it was quite probably a case of there being at least some fire to account for the smoke.

Furthermore, there had been the bizarre incident regarding the ‘generational _Enterprise_ ’ mentioned in the Starfleet inquiry. In addition to all the other complications, it appeared that in the ‘alternate timeline’ the couple had a son, Lorian, serving on the ‘E2’ (as the second ship was now referred to). This part of the story was naturally classified, but as Reed’s defense attorney he’d had access to everything detailed in the reports. Certainly there had been significant marital developments for everyone in the crew in that second ship (except for Reed, who’d apparently remained single), but the production of a Human/Vulcan hybrid child suggested an extremely strong attachment, and in view of the mounting evidence something of the kind was almost certainly present in their present-day counterparts.

So. If T’Pol was going to be the prosecution’s key witness, it was vital to get the maximum use out of Tucker to help discredit her testimony. He would have to be questioned and – however uncomfortable it might be – made to describe in detail everything he’d noticed about her mental state and actions while in command. _Particularly_ on and after the occasion of the discovery of the _Seleya_.

Hicks was not an inhumane man. He could see that the officer opposite him was already worn to the bone, and if it was true that he’d had feelings for T’Pol and she’d gone and married someone else in front of him, it was probably going to be the last refinement of cruelty to be forced to spread out the intimate details of his suffering for the benefit of an interested stranger. But though the statue of Justice held a set of scales in one hand, she held a drawn sword in the other. If Tucker was a weapon he could use to defend Malcolm Reed, then that sword would be used. Ralph Sinclair certainly wouldn’t scruple to use whatever dirt he could dig up to cast Reed’s capability and integrity into doubt.

“Her position is … uncertain at present.” He paused. “It’s not unusual, in cases where more than one party is accused of a crime, for one or more of the defendants to agree to testify for the prosecution in order to reduce their own sentence or even escape being charged altogether.”

He expected an immediate, furious rebuttal. If anything was clear about Archer’s officers it was that they stuck up for each other; being pitted against a common enemy strengthens bonds in a unit in a way nothing else does. In the teeth of all persuasion to the contrary, Lieutenant Reed had at first steadfastly resisted the very idea of giving evidence against his co-defendant in order to improve his own chances, and at a guess Archer had originally been just as obstinate in refusing to do the same – though without doubt he’d have been made to see sense by now, with his father’s reputation on the line. Surely their Vulcan XO would be trusted by her next in command to refuse to join the ranks of the enemy and strengthen their hand against her own fellow-officers.

Instead, the silence this time was so deep you could have dropped a stone into it and waited a long, long time before hearing the sound of it hitting water.

“I have a meeting to attend this morning,” he said, wishing he hadn’t, but it was an important one he couldn’t miss. “In my absence I’d like you to talk to one of my investigators, Major Guy. Please be completely frank with him – whatever you say will be entirely confidential.

“Answer any questions he asks you, as fully and honestly as you can. He’s helping me to do my job of defending Lieutenant Reed, so please trust that even if you don’t see the sense in what you’re being asked to talk about, it will provide information that we may well be able to use. We need to build up a picture of what it was like out there in the Expanse, the pressures on the people who actually _lived_ through what you did. How it affected you, mentally, physically, emotionally, because I’m sure it did.

“We have to face the possibility that Sub-Commander T’Pol will be used as a hostile witness. In view of that, I need to know the details of your relationship with her – I’m sorry, Commander, but it may well be relevant and rest assured I won’t use anything I don’t need to in court. I particularly need your observations on her behavior around the time of the _Seleya_ incident, and afterwards.

“And when you’re through with that, I’d like you to tell him anything and everything that you’ve said and done since you first became aware of something being wrong back here on Earth. We need the details of exactly who you’ve talked with, where and why and what was said. It doesn’t matter how trivial it may seem, anything you recall may help us.

“I’d particularly like to know whatever you can tell us about this ‘guy in the street’ who spoke to you,” he added dryly. “He’s someone I’d also very much like to interview.”

“Good luck with that.” Tucker had stiffened in outrage at the idea of his personal life becoming public property, but sagged back in weary acceptance of the necessity. Now he simply shrugged. “I’d never seen him before in my life. I’ll tell you whatever I can, but I honestly can’t help out with a name.”

“Even a description might help. If we could get some idea of what he looks like, there might be some record in police files.”

“Sure.” The blue eyes had been abstracted, his expression troubled, but at this they flicked up. “But to tell the truth, I don’t think he’s going to be on any police files if you look from now till Hell freezes over.”

Hicks had pulled out a drawer, ready to lock away the files he’d been studying when Tucker had been ushered in, but at this he paused again. “What makes you say that, Commander?”

Another shrug. “Just a hunch.”

 _You and Clifford should get along fine, you both rely on ‘hunches’._ And yet before now, the Major’s had been proven on many occasions to be accurate.

It was only to be hoped that Commander Tucker was a lot less talented in that respect.


	18. Chapter 17: Archer

“You’ve _lost_ Phlox?”

To do him justice, Max’s haggard expression could hardly have gotten any worse. “We didn’t _lose_ him, Jon. He was … he was taken from Jupiter Station. He should have been safe there, we had some of our best people guarding him. Two of them were killed.”

“And you don’t even know whether he’s still alive?”

The admiral shook his head miserably. “We’re having the whole station combed from top to bottom. But there’s so much traffic there, you know yourself – and it was the best part of an hour before the bodies were found.”

Instinctively and futilely Jon wished he could set Malcolm Reed onto the case. But his tactical officer was in jail, unable to lift a finger to help himself or anyone else, and even apart from his deep and completely genuine concern for Phlox himself, this news would be as much of a disaster for Reed as it was for him. The doctor’s evidence regarding the _Seleya_ ’s crew’s already terminal condition was absolutely crucial for their defense.

“Did Phlox actually _know_ he might be in danger?” the captain demanded, and once again had his answer in Max’s expression. “You mean he doesn’t even know about all this?”

“Starfleet wanted it kept under wraps until almost the last minute,” groaned Forrest. “They were hoping it wouldn’t get past the first hearing. And till then, it was strictly on a ‘need to know’ basis.”

Over the last few weeks Jon had learned more about the workings of the legal system than he’d ever really wanted to know. And though he still wasn’t anything like an expert, he was pretty damn sure that putting a technical expert on the stand as a witness without giving him ample time to prepare his evidence was pretty damned criminal in itself. Starfleet and its damned obsession with secrecy!

True, the judge would still have access to the transcripts from the investigation and those would be admissible as evidence. But Sinclair had said that in addition to testifying in person, Phlox would be subjected to some pretty thorough cross-examination in the hope of discrediting his expertise. There was little prospect of that working, though; the Denobulan had been absolutely confident both of his diagnosis of the problem and his grim prognosis for the infected Vulcans aboard the _Seleya_. His rock-ribbed certainty had convinced Jon, and it was unlikely to be less effective on whichever judge sat at the hearing.

But if he wasn’t there to be cross-examined…?

The prosecution too would have their experts. Vulcan medical experts, ready and willing to tear apart Phlox’s theories in his absence. And no-one, no-one at all, would be able to contradict them.

Except…

“T’Pol,” he said at last, leaning on the desk between them. “She was affected by the trellium ... Even if she’s not on our side for whatever reason, Sinclair can cross-examine her. She’ll testify about that. She must know all about Phlox’s findings.”

There was a long, long silence. So long that at the end of it he looked up and found Max’s eyes fixed on him with the look of someone who doesn’t know how to break the news to a guy that he has terminal cancer and isn’t expected to survive.

“I … I wouldn’t count on that, Jon.”


	19. Chapter 18: Harris

Section 31’s spymaster was not, in general, given to rolling his eyes.

Which was probably just as well, though it was noticeable that he paused for some moments after reading the message on his PADD, as though silently rehearsing quite a number of pieces of invective.

But though the curses occupied the surface of his mind, the lower layers of it were active. And as soon as all layers settled into their customary opaque calm, he unlocked one of his cabinets and took out from it a particular comm device that looked like something which might have lain for decades in the back of an antique store, an object that nobody quite knew how to repair and nobody had quite gotten around to sending for scrap. The controls were rusty; most of the icons were unreadable; the ‘send’ button was locked solid.

He pressed a few of the keys, in what looked like no particular order.

Then he waited.

 _“What do you want?”_ asked a voice ungraciously.

“The same thing you do, I’d imagine,” Harris said shortly.

 _“You have_ no _right to interfere_ _in our affairs.”_

“Don’t give me that crap. You know what’s coming down the line.”

The speaker at the end apparently did know. _“We had nothing to do with what happened.”_

“Then help us have something to do with it.”

_“That may not be possible.”_

“Fine. Then just sit back and wait for the _Rihannsu_ to come knocking on the door. If we don’t do something, this will split Earth-Vulcan relations apart like an ax.”

_“Given our vastly superior technology and numerically superior fleet, that’s hardly likely to worry us.”_

Although it was only an audio channel, Harris leaned closer, baring his teeth. “When the numbers count, every damned space scow that can fire a pea-shooter will matter. And they _will_ count. Sooner or later they’re going to come, and you’re going to need all the allies you can get.

“Let Archer go down and this wonderful alliance you’re all trying to build will just fall apart. I don’t have a damned clue what the hell your precious Administrator thinks he’s playing at, supporting this move. Andoria, Tellar, and all the rest – you think they’d be talking to you if it wasn’t for the poster-boy? You think they’ll come to the High Command’s whistle?

“Think again!”

The listener clearly didn’t need to, or at least not for long. “ _I_ _can use my influence,”_ he growled finally. _"I'll_ _give_ _you Archer._ _Let Reed fry.”_

Harris laughed. “Wasn’t it your idea to have one of ours put into the _Enterprise_? You think he’s any less of an asset now than he ever was?

“I want him put back right where he was till we need him.”

The voice at the other end of the connection sounded sullen. _“We don’t have the Denobulan._ _It wasn’t done through us.”_

“You surprise me. Too many corpses.

“But you _do_ know where he is.”

 _“I_ suspect _where he is. And I’m not risking my people going_ _in_ _there.”_

“Fine. I’m not asking you to. Give me the intel and nobody will ever know we had this conversation.”

_“If they ever find out, there won’t be enough left of you to bury.”_

“It’s always a pleasure dealing with someone who thinks along exactly the same lines as I do.”

The channel closed somewhat abruptly.

The co-ordinates would arrive shortly, disguised among random bursts of signals from a decrepit Vulcan satellite whose frazzled old computer occasionally woke to broadcast scraps of old newsreels stored on its mainframe. Ninety-nine percent of these contained absolutely nothing and its frequency was so weak that even civilian technology freaks had problems picking it up. Three of the ones which would be released shortly, however, would contain numbers. The material would be carefully chosen so the numbers would be simply a part of the report – even contained in the registry number of footage of an old ship, or mentioned in casualty figures for an accident. That was what the Section’s expert decoders would have to work out.

Harris permitted himself to smile grimly as he restored the device to its cabinet and locked it. Then he picked up his own communicator.

“Get me the _York_ team.”


	20. Chapter 19: Reed

Malcolm knew, even before Hicks spoke, that something had changed.

He sat back in his chair, crossed his free arm defensively across his body, and braced himself.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.

“I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve been advised this morning that Doctor Phlox has … disappeared.”

He appeared so personally discomfited by the announcement that it almost seemed as if he was blaming himself for not taking better care of his chief witness. Despite his immediate recognition of the event as the blow it was, Malcolm couldn’t stop a harsh bark of laughter escaping.

“Surprise, surprise!”

“Starfleet had him under surveillance,” his attorney said, with a glance that said his levity was hardly appropriate. “Apparently there was an armed attack and two guards were killed.”

“And Phlox? Was he injured?”

“I have no information on that.”

“And I imagine a search has come up blank.” He shut his eyes. “So apart from ‘up the creek without a paddle’, exactly where does this leave me?”

“I wouldn’t describe it in exactly those terms, Lieutenant, but it leaves us at a place where I feel it’s appropriate for me to contact Captain Archer’s attorney and explore the possibility of a joint defense to beat the Article 32 hearing.”

“Is this solely because of Phlox’s disappearance?”

“It weighs in the balance, obviously. Though Rule 804 provides that we can use all of Phlox’s testimony from the Starfleet investigation in the courtroom, as though he was actually there to provide it. But after studying the evidence, I’ll admit that I was already beginning to think it might be our best option.”

Malcolm opened his eyes again. “So you persuaded me that I ought to regard the captain as the enemy, and now you’re saying I should join forces with him.”

“You’re a tactical officer, Lieutenant, you should know that plans have to be changed to respond to a changing situation.

“Ideally, we should have combined forces from the beginning – just as you probably thought we should. But a court case doesn’t constitute ideal circumstances. My duty as your defense counsel was and is to prepare you for _any_ eventuality – and there was always the very real possibility that Archer might decide to join forces with the prosecution and throw you under the bus to save himself.”

“So why has that changed?”

“Now, it will be the accused versus whoever the prosecution decides to bring against us. Essentially, though we can still use Phlox’s recorded testimony, to a court, a doctor is effectively God. And a witness who would be convincing to the court in person and steady under cross-examination would be our strongest defensive weapon, and that loss increases the possibility that we _may_ not be able to block this at the hearing stage. I have enough material to go some way towards discrediting Sub-Commander T’Pol if they do produce her as a witness, but if you two combine forces you can do a far better job between you, if it becomes necessary.”

Malcolm allowed himself the flicker of a grim smile. “Since we can no longer defend so effectively, we attack.”

“‘The best defense is a good offense’, Mister Reed. From what I’ve read about you, I’d have thought you’d have thoroughly approved of that maxim.”

The smile became a laugh at that, but it was a short one and broke in the middle. “It’s unbelievable,” he said almost inaudibly. “After all we went through – all the losses, all the deaths, all the suffering… We came home, we’d done what everyone wanted. God help us, they called us heroes. Even _I’ve_ had a bloody school named after me!

“And now this – after everything, we’re turning on each other like rats in a trap…”

Catching Hicks’ expression, he snatched himself up, furious for his moment of weakness. “So now what?” he asked tautly.

“Well, Lieutenant, Commander Sinclair and I now have to arrange to sit down together and decide whether to pool our resources. I think he’ll agree, but I can’t guarantee that. You should still be prepared for having to fight the two of them.”

_You should still be prepared for having to fight the two of them._

In the Expanse, the ship had encountered spatial anomalies. Almost without warning sometimes, they’d careered through the ship, warping decks, bending bulkheads, turning the familiar into the unfamiliar. Matter reconstituted itself in their wake, but anything living experienced the brief, awful agony of having its structure ripped apart.

Sometimes life itself became an anomaly. During his deconstruction to become a Section 31 agent he’d experienced that for himself. Ever since, his meticulous reconstruction of himself – the self he thought he might have been, if events hadn’t intervened – had been a process of constant, painstaking concentration, struggling to reconnect to a frame of reference that had once been what made him what he was.

The trouble was, the deconstruction could never be wholly undone. Having been forced to unmask the worst side of him, to learn to ignore the cries of anything he would once have described as a conscience, it was that much harder to keep his feet on the path of virtue. You knew how much easier things became when you no longer had to care about the right way of getting a job done. You knew how much less it hurt when you no longer felt any connection to the rest of humanity. It was bitter, it was barren, it was lonely, but it was _safe._

And when out of the blue you were confronted by the agony of a betrayal where you’d never suspected one might happen, how horribly attractive that _safeness_ suddenly became…

“Have you – have you spoken to Commander Tucker?”

The attorney nodded. “I’ll be calling him as a witness.”

 _Christ, no! He won’t be able –_ “Is that absolutely necessary?”

“Commander Sinclair has already interviewed him. He’s on notice to make himself available and ready to testify for the hearing.”

It was unlikely that those in charge of the jail would look favourably on a request to install a punch bag in his room for the remainder of his stay, but at that moment Malcolm regretted bitterly the fact that he didn’t have access to one. Failing that, he’d rather have liked to share a gym mat with Jonathan Archer for ten minutes, during which he could administer a belated lesson on what _not_ to do to a bloke who was already fit to jump off a tall building – and one, moreover, who’d once thought of himself as your best buddy.

Events had changed all that. Even before the arrival of the Xindi probe, the wretched incident with the Vissian cogenitor had delivered a blow to the friendship between Archer and Tucker from which it had never fully recovered. Although unable to refute the fact that Trip’s intervention there had been misguided and ultimately disastrous, Malcolm had understood that it sprang from his always impulsive generosity and compassion.

True, both _should_ have been under his control as a Starfleet officer. Even T’Pol had tried to protect him from his own determination to rush in where diplomacy forbade him to tread. Malcolm himself would have done his best to warn him off, if he hadn’t been busy at the time chasing the delectable Vissian Lieutenant Veylo around the Armoury in the interests of ‘cementing friendly relations’ – a dereliction of duty for which he’d yet to forgive himself. But though Trip had never referred to it directly, it was easy enough to gather that afterwards the captain had delivered a lashing reproof, pouring salt into the already gaping wound of his self-recrimination when his intervention led directly to the cogenitor’s suicide.

And then, when he’d barely had time to begin his recovery from that, the probe had come. His kid sister Lizzie – his favourite – had been incinerated like seven million others. The mission had depended on his skills as an engineer to keep the ship running while they hunted down those responsible, and when they’d found them, there had been no revenge. Possibly by then he’d even begun to realise that vengeance would not have cured his agony, but it had been easy to guess by his empty stare at the reception back on Earth that he was drained of almost everything.

Everything, except the small hope he’d fondly believed was a secret – the hope that would have been fed with the equivalent of a generous dollop of warp plasma when T’Pol invited him to accompany her to Vulcan...

There had been one call from Trip after he’d returned. It had been short and to the point. Malcolm, the aghast recipient, had been even less use than usual at finding appropriate things to say, though when he’d closed the comm he’d found quite a _lot_ of things to say about Vulcans and their mothers and the whole bloody business of weddings. Fortunately, at the time he’d been working alone in the torpedo storage area so he was free to express himself as creatively as he chose to, though at one point it seemed not entirely impossible that any or all of the torpedoes might go off in sympathy.

“Is there anything further you wish to discuss, Lieutenant?”

Dully Malcolm realised he’d been silent, staring bitterly into space, for far too long.

“No ... I’m sorry, sir. I was just thinking.”

Thinking – about Vulcans being _blackmailed..._

“Try not to worry. I realize that’s a lot easier said than done, on your side of the process.”

The twist of his mouth was gall. “It’s a habit I’ve got into, over the last few months.”

There was no point in prolonging the interview. Polite farewells were exchanged, and then came the guard, with the inevitable repositioning of the handcuffs and the linen hood dropped over his head.

Up till today he’d never uttered a word as he was escorted back to his cell. Now, however, he looked up as the cuffs were unlocked and the hood removed.

To his cynical, world-weary gaze the guard looked hardly out of secondary school. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting a punch-bag fitted in here, is there, Corporal?”

A momentary bewilderment. “Er, I don’t suppose there is, sir.”

“No. Pity. Never mind.” He walked into his cell.

So. Just like that – assuming the attorneys managed to patch up a deal whereby their clients weren’t set on each other like fighting dogs in a pit – it was simply ‘undo all the damage’. Unlearn the lesson. Rebuild the trust. Reforge the loyalty. Glue back together the million pieces of the rose-coloured spectacles and put them back on your nose, and try to convince yourself that the crazy-paving of cracks across your vision is a worthwhile price to pay for the illusion of warmth.

All his experience aboard _Enterprise_ said _Trust the captain. He deserves it._

All his experience before that said _I have no friends. Friends are people who betray you._

Another day to endure. Another day with nothing to do except exercise and think, with his head and his heart fighting out the endless battle between them.

All his life he’d been used to _acting._ Not always wisely, true, but always throwing his heart and soul into whatever course he chose to take. Now, tormented by physical captivity and mental turmoil, he was almost paralysed by indecision. In the occasional moment when he managed to separate himself from the maddening conflict in his head, he realised he was descending into paranoia. But what man wouldn’t, if he found himself in such a nightmare?

_Trust the captain. He deserves it._

_I have no friends. Friends are people who betray you._

_...Blackmailed._ Was it possible that T’Pol was – for reasons unknown – being blackmailed into testifying against him and the captain?

_Oh my God. I could be sacrificed for the captain’s father or the sub-commander’s mother. If I let myself laugh I’ll go stark, staring mad._

_I’ll mention it to Hicks tomorrow. He’ll pat me on the head and tell me to go away and play with my toy guns and stop hallucinating._

Today he didn’t even look at the window. With a moan of anguish he just stripped off his T-shirt and started on the cardio exercises, and he’d hardly loosened up his muscles properly before he flung himself into the first of the sets.

... _Fifty-nine...sixty!_


	21. Chapter 20: Langford

The phone rang just as she was a couple of steps up the stairs on her way to bed.

And, of course, she’d left it on the table beside her chair, instead of taking it with her.

Startling Dickon, who was curled up comfortably in his padded basket on the hearth, she burst back into the lounge and flew across the room, praying that whoever it was wouldn’t hang up before she got there.

“Max?”

She’d been more patient than she’d ever been in her life. She’d waited _days_ before she called him. And then, for the first time ever, he’d refused the call...

“Holly,” said a deep male voice she was quite sure she’d never heard before. “Try not to worry. He’s not on his own. We’re going to do what we can for him.”

“You – what? I’m sorry? Who _is_ this?”

Only the click of the line disconnecting answered her.

It was, of course, completely useless to dial the number that would tell you who had rung you last, but she dialled it anyway. Not only did it not provide the information she wanted, it said that the last call had been from the vet, reminding her that Dickon’s yearly inoculation was due.

She sat down limply in the armchair, staring at the phone. What the _hell_ was going on?

There was a small, flat box on the table, in a cardboard sleeve with a holly leaf inked on it. Nestling on blue velvet inside it was a gold bangle, engraved with the words ‘Your heart and my heart are very old friends’. 

She’d found it in Malcolm’s belongings when she’d rifled through them, desperate to find something, _anything_ , that could give her a clue. If the shuttlepod hadn’t come, there had been a table booked at a local restaurant – a small one, but a favourite of theirs – and at a guess he’d been planning to give it to her over a meal there.

She’d have worn it with pride. As it was, she couldn’t even bear to slip it around her wrist, though she kept it there beside her, a tangible link to him.

Little as she cared for trawling through the media, over the intervening weeks she’d broken her own rule. Even now there were reams of rubbish to wade through, especially over that damned ‘Romance in the Expanse’ affair, but so far not a whisper had emerged over why one of _Enterprise_ ’s officers should have been arrested – or even the fact that he had.

Malcolm wasn’t the only victim of Section 31 that she’d treated over the years. Several others had stayed in touch with her.

It wasn’t _ever_ her job to get in touch with them. They had their own lives to cope with, and these were tough and sometimes short. She didn’t even know which of her past patients were alive or dead. She was available on demand whenever or if ever they needed her, and that was the deal.

Slowly she reached out to her mobile phone. It held a section of triple-encrypted files, and one of these contained the number of the one other person who’d said ‘If you need me, call me’.


	22. Chapter 21: Phlox

“Eat! Or we make you eat!”

The words were just about decipherable, given the fact that Nausicaan labial and mandibular structure struggled with the pronunciation of English.

“I will not!” Phlox glared. “I would estimate there to be several billion harmful micro-organisms in this alone!” He pointed at one of the smaller lumps in his bowl that might, at some unspecified but probably rather far-distant point in time, have been part of an organism capable of independent locomotion.

The guard expressed displeasure and snatched the bowl away. It was unlikely anything either more palatable or less biologically active would be provided, but at that moment the doctor would rather endure the continued pangs of hunger than risk the consequences of eating that rank slop.

At least he was not kept short of water. Admittedly it was not particularly fresh, and he had to trust that the traces of chemicals he could taste were not cumulatively toxic, but there was plenty of it.

His prison was not especially uncomfortable either, though it was warmer than he would have preferred and the air tasted stale. He had awoken in it an unspecified length of time ago – he thought, several days, though without any means of counting the hours he had no way of telling. The light that pierced the grille in the door that locked him in showed him he was in a cave rather than a room; he was lying on bedding that was thick enough to be comfortable, though rather malodorous, but there was no other furniture except a pail, presumably for body wastes.

The poor light made details of the walls hard to see, but by fingertip he’d made out that they were uneven. Mostly they were rough rock, but there were seams of what felt like crystal here and there, and other places, particularly lower down on the walls, felt as if they had been scraped clean.

Careful listening revealed the sound of low rumbling, and both the floor and walls of the cave were under low but constant vibration. The fact that the intensity of both varied without any perceptible pattern suggested that both rumbling and vibration were the product of natural causes, though the reflection was not a particularly reassuring one.

On board ship, the extremely low Denobulan requirement for sleep was an advantage – except, of course, if there was an emergency during his hibernation cycle, during which he was virtually impossible to awaken. Even aboard _Enterprise_ he slept for a couple of hours every night, but nowhere near as deeply as Humans did, and he could have done without even that for quite a length of time without feeling any ill-effects. This capability balanced out the inconvenience of the hibernation period, and had been extremely useful on such occasions as the aftermath of the battle of Azati Prime, when there had been so many cases Sickbay had been full to overflowing and a Human doctor would have been overcome by exhaustion long before most of them were treated. 

Unfortunately he was nowhere near the hibernation phase of his biological clock, which left him very much prey to boredom. He was not used to being inactive – there were always texts to study, reports to log, experiments to monitor and his creatures to care for – and even his generally philosophical nature was beginning to give way to irritation.

He still had no idea whatsoever why he had been kidnapped. His attempts to find out from his captors had resulted in nothing more than orders to keep his mouth shut ‘or else’, which strongly suggested they had no more idea than he did. The few Nausicaans he had ever encountered were inclined to bragging, and although he had no idea whether this was just a lamentable trait of these particular individuals or of the species in general, there seemed no reason why they should refuse to admit it if they knew. It was unlikely they would simply share the information with him outright, but they would certainly enjoy dropping hints to let him know they had knowledge he did not.

His first and automatic guess was that his abduction was the work of some xenophobic faction on Earth. Possibly he was being used as leverage against Starfleet in some way. Certainly those responsible would be extremely unpopular among many if one of the ‘Heroes of the Expanse’ (a title Phlox personally detested) was harmed, but on the other hand many Humans blamed _Enterprise_ and Starfleet’s ‘expansionist’ policies for stirring up the trouble with the Xindi to start with. If Humanity had stayed within its solar system, the reasoning went, then nobody would ever have seen them as enough of a threat to feel it necessary to kill seven million of them and plot to wipe out all the rest. 

Possibly the Vulcans espoused that reasoning too. They’d certainly expended enough effort trying to dissuade the Humans from venturing out beyond the confines of the Sol system, though Phlox suspected a little uncharitably that it was as much fear for their own influence as it was for the safety of the Humans themselves.

But whoever was responsible, or whatever the reason for it might be, the fact was that he was here (wherever ‘here’ happened to be) and here he seemed likely to remain for some considerable time.

There was no doubt whatsoever that it was his duty to do whatever he could to free himself if opportunity offered. But he was not cast in any sort of heroic mould, whatever ridiculous title the media had seen fit to hang about his neck, and although he was not by any means unwilling to ‘have a go’ if the chance presented itself, he feared that his captors would find little difficulty in restraining him. He did not know how many of them there were, though so far he had seen two guards, and he did not know where he was being held. If he somehow managed to stage an escape from his prison, he had no idea where the prison itself was. It was not on Jupiter Station and it was immensely unlikely to be on Jupiter itself, where the conditions were so hostile that even unmanned probes still had a life expectancy measured in minutes once they crossed the threshold of its upper atmosphere. But for the presence of his Nausicaan guards he would have guessed he was on Earth, where he could most conveniently be used as a pawn in whatever game his captors were playing, but he rather doubted whether these very distinctive and aggressive aliens were likely to risk appearing in Starfleet’s back yard.

Still, however small his chances might be of success, that was no excuse for not trying. With a view to maintaining his physical condition, ever since Phlox had woken up here he’d steadfastly performed a necessarily limited regimen of exercise, despite its inevitable effect of making him hungrier than he would have been otherwise.

It would appear that his captors did not feel he presented much of a threat. Only one guard at a time came in to bring him food and water, and his cautious glances towards the corridor through the open door did not suggest there was anyone out there in support. But both of the individuals he’d seen so far were powerfully built and both of them were armed. He was under no illusion that they were less than perfectly ready, even eager, to punish him if he gave them trouble.

Now the guard, and the unwanted food, and the previous soil bucket, all disappeared into the corridor and there was the sound of the locks engaging. Phlox had been alert for any chance he might get to launch an attack, but the villain had been clearly prepared for any such foolishness. There was a significant difference between courage and stupidity, as Lieutenant Reed had invariably reminded anyone making up one of a landing party, and ‘stupid’ risked ending up ‘dead’.

With a sigh, the doctor prepared himself for another long period of boredom. He might manage to get some sleep, but he would have been more comfortable if he had been able to wash. The heat was oppressive even though he had removed his long outer tunic, while to judge by the smell it had been a long time since the bedding last experienced a cleaning agent of any kind. So far he did not bear the evidence of any infestation in it but presumably that simply went to prove that even parasites had limits.

But though he heard the footsteps begin their retreat up what sounded like a long corridor, suddenly there was a smother of sound and a clatter. He tensed.

Maybe the guard had just tripped over something.

No epithets followed, just an odd dull noise that for some reason made the hair shift on the back of his neck. Then, a few seconds later, the door opened.

It was not the guard, or indeed any other of his species. It was a Human, clad in body armor and wearing a combat helmet with various attachments. He was carrying a phase rifle with what were presumably sights attached to it, supported at his chest by a sling, and a couple of other dangerous-looking weapons hung about other parts of his armor. As best Phlox could make out through the intimidating high-tech helmet he was a sturdy-looking male with long, soft fair hair and a similar moustache, and in one hand he was carrying something that for a moment defied identification. Then, with a shudder, Phlox realized it was the Nausicaan’s head.

“Retinal scanner,” the newcomer said by way of explanation, his voice completely matter-of-fact. “If it’d been a palm model he’d only have lost a hand.”

“Who in the world are you?” The Denobulan scrambled to his feet.

“Someone with a job to do. Come on.”

Phlox was not about to argue. Sparing a glance of mingled compassion, disgust and dislike for the headless body sprawled in a spreading pool of blood in the corridor (now revealed to be actually more of a tunnel, where mechanical means had enlarged and smoothed what looked like a natural passageway) he followed his rescuer along it.

Reinforcing the idea that the tunnel had been natural in origin, it dipped and bent, presumably following the path of least resistance. After something over fifty meters, there was a side corridor, from which stepped two other people clad in the same equipment as his rescuer. The first was a young woman carrying a phase rifle as if it had just been used. She was tawny-haired, petite and attractive enough by Human standards, but her expression was absolutely chilling. Behind her, a huge black man with the most unrevealing face Phlox had ever seen stepped away from the shadows. He looked down from his great height and nodded.

“All done. Let’s Oscar Mike.”

Without further words the team moved into a clearly well-rehearsed formation. The young woman took up the lead, with the tall team leader immediately behind her and Phlox behind him. The blond soldier took up the rear. Each of the operatives covered a specified sector with their raised phase rifle as they moved down the corridor, in case of any unexpected attack from forces outside. The others were wearing the same armor and weapons as their comrade, with dark gray camouflage gear underneath it, but just short of what must be the door to the outside – a massive thing that clearly contained an airlock – there was a side room that contained a number of EV suits. His three rescuers began donning theirs, clearly designed to fit them, and the woman pointed Phlox at the smallest of the other remaining suits, at a guess belonging to his Nausicaan captors.

It was unlikely that anyone behind them would still require the use of one. Even so, Phlox felt a momentary pang. If the outside atmosphere required an airlock, and the owner of the suit he was taking was still alive and needed one in order to escape, by taking it he was effectively condemning the poor wretch to death.

“We have a five minute window. If you don’t get in, we’ll stun you and put you in it,” she told him flatly. “Your choice.”

Well, effectively there was no choice. Refraining from argument, though promising himself a protest at this brutality when opportunity offered, the doctor got himself into the EV suit. It was still far too tall for him and the smell when he donned the helmet was almost intolerable, but at a guess it would still be far more comfortable than exposure to what was waiting for him on the far side of the airlock. He could only draw comfort from the fact that Nausicaans apparently required air that contained much the same components as Humans did, even if their tolerance for unpleasant odors left something to be desired.

Waddling as best he could in the suit that hung around him in ridiculous folds, he joined the other three at the door.

The controls were old and slow, but they worked. The inner door had to be swung inwards – presumably drilling a recess in the rock for it to slide into had been felt excessive effort. The four of them tramped into the airlock, closed the inner door (though whether out of compassion for any remaining survivors of their visit, or whether to prevent themselves from being whooshed out with escaping atmosphere was debatable) and activated the one that gave them access to the outside world.

The EV suit offered protection against whatever temperature the air was that rushed in to meet them, but Phlox was instantly glad that at least two people were holding on to him. The atmosphere was violently turbulent, and he could feel the rattle of a hail of particles hitting every inch of his suit.

For a moment, between the rush of what looked like grains of orange sand across his faceplate and the flashes of blindingly brilliant light, he could not get a grasp of what he was looking at. Then he made out a landscape of nightmare, a sea of dark rock seamed with gleams of painful orange brightness. The flashes came from a massive plume of gases that soared into a sky almost swallowed by the swirling disc of Jupiter.

If they had been this close to a volcanic eruption of that size on Earth, they would have been in imminent danger of death. As it was, the height of the column and the fact that its matter was simply boiling upwards and outwards into space rather than collapsing in a deadly rain of rock, ash and superheated gases suggested that the atmosphere was thin and the gravity extremely low.

The boots of the EV suits must have been set to compensate for this low gravity. Steadied by his companions, Phlox began to stumble down over a horror of a landscape of frozen rocks; the ice was probably not water, but a gas solidifying on the solid surfaces when the atmosphere plunged in Jupiter’s shadow. It was now all too clear where the rumbling and shaking he’d experienced underground was coming from: the solid ground where his prison had been dug (at a guess, it was some old research station, long since abandoned) was at the edge of an active lava field on one of Jupiter’s moons. No wonder it had been so unbearably hot down there. But the glitter of ice under his boots told him that where not heated by lava, the place’s natural temperature must be brutally cold, far past the tolerance of any living organism.

It was just as well that they were all holding each other up. Not one had kept their footing completely by the time they reached the more or less level ground where the small, sleek black craft was waiting for them. Not that the pilot was waiting patiently, for when someone opened the comms to contact him a voice of strident complaint greeted them. Possibly it was something to do with the fact that several fiery orange cracks were creeping towards the shuttle’s feet where they rested on the shuddering rock underfoot. It appeared that the pilot thought they might have been quicker about the rescue and saved him considerable worry, or at least that was the gist of the message as the four of them scrambled into the doorway that opened in the side as they reached it.

A number of particularly violent expletives greeted the sideways lurch that had nothing to do with their singularly ungraceful arrival on the deck inside. Fortunately it helped to propel them in and away from the door, which hissed shut so fast it was something of a miracle that no feet were left outside.

The engine howled. The craft shuddered for a horrible minute and then with a screech of rending metal and a scream of “…And I’m not fucking paying for the welding!” it lifted free.

Getting through the atmosphere itself was probably one of the worst flights Phlox had ever experienced. There was no chance of standing up. He simply lay where he was, held on to whatever he could find to grab that appeared to be part of the craft’s superstructure, and prayed.

Fortunately, although extremely violent, the turbulence was also extremely brief. Probably nothing like several eternities had actually passed by the time the rocking and slamming eased and the shuttle finally cruised into the comparative tranquillity of free space.

Phlox’s companions got to their feet and helped him up. It was an unspeakable relief to unfasten his helmet and breathe air that was positively sweet by comparison.

“Oh my!” he gasped. “Whoever you are, thank you!”


	23. Chapter 22: Langford

She had only been to Starfleet HQ once before, and travel as the guest of a Starfleet admiral had been a rather different experience to travelling alone and as a private individual. Instead of a luxurious fleet vehicle to whisk her from the airport she had been obliged to use public transport, and on top of a long journey to London Heathrow, the transatlantic flight to New York and the changeover to the internal flight to San Francisco International Airport (no seats on direct flights had been available for several days, much to her dismay), it was very tiring. By the time the bus deposited her outside the gates, she was feeling very much the worse for wear.

Much of her work involved faith. Now it was tested as she wearily picked up her overnight bag, walked to the security gate and presented her passport. “I’m here to see Admiral Forrest, please.”

If she wasn’t expected...

Ordinarily, at a guess, the admiral’s visitors arrived in extremely expensive flitters, not on foot, dishevelled and dusty. The guard looked at her hard, checked her passport (few stamps – she seldom travelled) and consulted the screen of his computer.

“Okay, Ma’am.” The barrier unlocked.

She swallowed a sigh of relief.

“Would you need any assistance?” he added.

Holly had no false pride, and the visit had been some years ago. “Yes – I’d appreciate directions, please.”

She was given a map, on which the reception area was clearly marked. “If you ask any of the staff on the desks, Ma’am, they’ll tell the admiral you’ve arrived.”

“Would you care for a lift, Ma’am? We’re heading that way ourselves.” A couple of MACOs had clearly observed the situation, and she was more than glad to accept the offer. The Starfleet complex was vast, and a long walk at the end of such an exhausting journey suddenly seemed more than she could bear.

Far sooner than she would have done if she’d been left to her own steam, she found herself walking through one of the imposing sets of glass doors into the reception area. It was quite crowded, and she took advantage of the fact that the inquiries desk was apparently fully occupied to slip to one side and find a bathroom. There she did what she could to straighten and neaten her travel-crumpled clothes before brushing her hair and adjusting her simple earrings.

Her heart was beating rather fast as she made her way to the next desk that became available. The handsome young man behind it, whose badge identified him as Tomás Garçia, smiled pleasantly at her and asked how he could help her.

“I have a meeting arranged with Admiral Forrest,” she replied, looking him straight in the eye. “Please tell him the rose-hip wine has arrived.”

He blinked. “Admiral Forrest. Yes, Ma’am.” He consulted his list, then lifted a phone and keyed in an extension. “Admiral, your visitor is here. She – she says to tell you the rose-hip wine has arrived.”

There was a pause. What felt like a very _long_ pause.

Then he smiled in obvious relief and set down the phone. “Please take a seat, Ma’am. The admiral will be with you shortly.”

On knees that were wobbly with relief she made her way to one of the seats indicated. Then, after perhaps ten minutes had passed, she saw Max making his way towards her.

=/\=

“Holly, I ... I can’t believe you came all this way! And how the _heck_ did you get past the gate? How did you...”

She sympathised. She really did. Now that they were in the privacy of his office suite, her hapless host could start letting go of his feelings, which were clearly so mixed he didn’t know where to start.

The bear-hug said how pleased he was to see her. His exasperated glare said he wished her back at the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

“Max, I _had_ to come.” She’d succumbed to the weakness of sitting down, because she was almost too exhausted to stand up any longer, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “You have no idea how important it is.”

“Holly. I’m in the middle of what could turn into a major diplomatic incident and a publicity nightmare, I don’t have the time...”

“You don’t have the time for one of your damned ‘Heroes of the Expanse’ to ‘commit suicide’ because Starfleet has railroaded him into a damned trial?” she flashed. “Because that’s what the Section will make it look like, if they think he may bargain his way out of trouble with what he knows! You think that would be good publicity, Max? You want that on Starfleet’s recruiting posters?”

“It won’t come to that,” he said weakly. “He’s under close guard. And it most likely won’t even get to trial.”

“Does _he_ know that?”

“Damn it, Holly, this is a legal procedure! Starfleet can’t influence what happens, we don’t have a crystal ball!”

“In other words, he’s on his own!”

Forrest breathed hard. “He has the best legal representation there is. We’re bending over backwards to give him all the help we can, within the confines of the law. There’s nothing else we can do.”

He looked utterly miserable, but she couldn’t afford to weaken. “Let me see him.”

“I can’t. He’s in a military jail. In solitary–”

Not just imprisoned, but in solitary confinement! With Jaguar’s memories of being a beast in a cage, being dragged back into some semblance of humanity for the Section’s purposes! Granted it was hugely unlikely the admiralty had any idea exactly what atrocities went into creating the Section’s best murderers, still it was a miracle that he hadn’t flipped out already, slaughtering everyone around him in the effort to escape. “Damn you, Max, don’t you know what he’s been through already? What he’s _suffered?_ Haven’t you ever even _thought_ what one of the Section’s operatives has to be like before I’m given the job of sticking them back together?”

“He had a psych-eval. They passed him fit.”

She’d have laughed until her sides ached if her heart weren’t breaking. “So you put an ex-Black Ops agent through a standard psych-eval. Oh, way to go, Max. First-bloody-class!”

An aide arrived just then with a tray of coffee and cookies, so both of them had to maintain a ragged silence till it had been set down and the contents laid out neatly on the coffee table, and the aide had departed again.

“I don’t care what the psych-eval says. Actually I don’t even give a damn what he’s been accused of. All I know is that if Malcolm Reed is being left in solitary confinement waiting to be tried for some damn crime he didn’t commit after he helped save the whole damn world from getting blown to hell, then you’re damn lucky he’s lasted this long without going on the rampage trying to get out – and if he does, Max, then there are damn well going to be more corpses than his to account for afterwards!”

“Damn, Holly, you need to find a few different adjectives.”

She picked up a cookie and threw it at him, and at least he had the grace to let it hit him before he picked it up off his lap and dunked it in his coffee. At last he heaved a sigh.

“I’ll get in touch with his attorney and have a motion made for an order to permit you to see him. But for God’s sake, Holly, promise me you won’t talk about what he’s supposed to have done. Anything you say to him or he says to you could be used against him. It’s complicated enough without that.”

“You’re all concentrating on the officer. I’m concentrating on the _man._ That’s how I get to do my job, Max.”

The admiral stared into his coffee for a moment or two, and then lifted a troubled gaze. “You honestly think he’d turn dangerous?”

“If he was found guilty? No. If he felt betrayed? Yes. He’d probably do his best to resign himself, that’s English military discipline for you, but in a moment’s despair, if imprisonment gets to him hard enough, it’s entirely possible he’ll just go ballistic and do something stupid, taking out as many people as he can before he goes down – or escapes. Just because he _expects_ it – and he does, because of what he’s been through – doesn’t mean he could endure it if it happened. The Section put him through hell once and then Starfleet put him through it again, and you think he’s made of bloody metal? Think again!

“If he goes, Max, _all_ the brakes will come off. He’ll act, and he’ll act violently. He must already be furious and he's not the type to go peacefully if he feels he’s been screwed so blatantly. Why would he care about protecting Starfleet or anyone else, the very people who will sweep all this under the rug, never to be referred to again? He’ll explode outward and never mind who gets in the way. 

“Your organisation trained him, and they did a damn good job. I’ll tell you here and now, in my professional opinion he’s probably the most dangerous man I’ve ever treated. I guarantee he’ll escalate to a scorched earth policy with a vengeance, causing such a stink in carnage and mayhem that the press will be baying for answers.

“But there’s one more thing I know for certain, and that’s that Section 31 will not want him spilling the beans on their activities to try to make some kind of plea-bargain. Where he is, he’s no use to them and he’s definitely a potential liability. Get me in there and let me help him. We don’t want to bring any mention of the Section in, so tell them I’ve been helping him with PTSD after the Expanse, whatever works – I’ll play along with that. Then at least I can check him out mentally, help him not to revert to his Section training. At least if they know I’m involved they may hold back on arranging a ‘suicide’ while they see how things pan out.”

He set down the coffee cup and hit the comm to his aide, instructing her to call Commander Hicks. “It’s probably too late to arrange anything today,” he said. “To tell the truth, I don’t know how long it’ll take, but we’ll get you in there as soon as we can.” A pause. “Have you found yourself somewhere to stay?”

She grinned, shaking her head.

He covered his face with one hand. “And you Brits say us Colonials are crazy.”

“Ah, I’m sure you’ve got a sofa somewhere I can borrow.” She delved into her flight bag. “And to make sure of my welcome, I brought you a sweetener.”

“Just for that, you’ve got yourself a deal.” He laughed as she set down the bottle of her home-made rosé wine, his favourite. “And tonight, I’ll take us out to dinner. Then we can sit down and see what we can use to get you to see Lieutenant Reed.”

She nodded, smiling. Her gratitude wasn’t feigned; she knew he was stretching his authority to get her a visit to a prisoner normally not allowed visitors. But though she was perfectly capable of acting the gracious guest, she felt a little sick at the thought of what she might find when she was finally allowed into the prison. Even the long friendship and trust between herself and Malcolm hadn’t allowed him to unburden himself to her about the terrible things he had endured in the Expanse, and now on top of that he was effectively locked up in a cage, where the barriers he’d built up between his present and his past must be starting to crumble away. Every mouthful of food would stick in her craw like a fishbone until she could see for herself how he was faring.


	24. Chapter 23: T'Pol

“Good afternoon, Sub-Commander. Thank you for your time.”

“My pleasure, Major.”

As the investigator took his leave, T’Pol remained upright in her seat; but when the door had closed behind him, she allowed herself to slump very slightly.

Regardless of the courtesy demanded, the last couple of hours had been anything but a pleasure. The major might be somewhat diminutive for his species but his compact frame was not misleading when it hinted at strength. And it was not only strength of body but of intellect, so that now she was in urgent need of a prolonged period of meditation to restore her mental calm.

It was a requirement of Earth’s legal system that witnesses could be interviewed by the opposition’s legal representative prior to the hearing. Normally this would take place on Earth, but it had been made subtly clear to her that her status as a ‘guest’ of the High Command did not allow her to venture outside the confines of their headquarters, at least until the time came for her to travel to Earth for the hearing. Without a shadow of a doubt she was still under constant surveillance even when she walked in the gardens, and the very reasonable conditions of her stay here were dependent on her remaining willing to appear as a witness for the prosecution against Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed.

To be sure, she had not explicitly said she would. She had been careful not to state that, or even to imply it. But during the interview with Major Guy she had been flanked by two senior Vulcan advisers, of whom one was her attorney S’Hella. The other was unapologetically a witness for the High Command, and would report her every word to Administrator V’Las and his coterie.

The effort to answer the major’s questions without either incriminating herself with V’Las or betraying her own increasing dismay at the strength of the defense’s case had been absolutely exhausting. To use an Earth analogy, she had felt like a lone rabbit in a burrow with two weasels; whichever way she turned there were bright eyes and snapping teeth.

Her testimony regarding the incidents aboard the _Seleya_ rested entirely on her recorded report at the time and her memory of events. The major had been scrupulously polite, but throughout the interview he had wielded legitimate causes for doubt with the skill of an assassin. Even she, recording later entries in her log, had commented that her previous entries had been influenced ‘to some degree’ by the trellium poisoning. Listening to them now, they sounded to her what they must have sounded to her Human crewmates at the time – the ravings of a sick mind.

Her memory of events was likewise somewhat flawed. She could remember some scenes more clearly than others, though the trellium poisoning had enabled her to feel the emotions of the occasion with a ferocity and vividness that she could only liken to the effects of a hallucinogenic drug. Fear became terror, suspicion became certainty, anger became rage, force became violence. Everything was magnified; thought was subsumed by feeling. No wonder the unfortunates who had been exposed to it from the beginning had turned into homicidal lunatics. Vulcan minds were designed to operate with discipline, but no discipline could have withstood this tsunami of uncontrolled emotion. Even if they had conceived the necessity of saving themselves by meditation they could never have controlled their minds long enough to begin it, and the days and nights without a process that was essential to their entire wellbeing had had their inevitable consequence. 

Humans needed sleep to remain sane. Vulcans needed meditation for the same reason. Unfortunately, a human body would eventually – unless forcibly prevented – simply switch off and take the recuperative rest its mind required. Meditation, on the other hand, was a process that had to be deliberately started. If it was not, the results would quickly become cumulative; a mind unbalanced by the lack of meditation would become more unbalanced and less able to meditate effectively, until the point was reached where it was unable to meditate at all. The trellium had accelerated this process. It had required intervention with drugs Phlox quickly synthesized and administered to restore her to the level of mental stability where she could actually remember not merely _how_ to meditate, but _why._

In order to respond appropriately to Major Guy’s questioning she had effectively had to force herself back into the mindset to which she had succumbed aboard the _Seleya_. She had to recall what she had thought and how she had felt. She had to rebuild the increasingly psychotic suspicion of her comrades from _Enterprise_ , her confusion and bewilderment at her surroundings, her horror at the crazed faces of the Vulcans who attacked the boarding party with murderous intent. She had recognized many of them from her time on board, even though they were now little more than warped caricatures of themselves, and the revulsion at their appalling fate had been just another of the uncontrollable waves that had crashed over her.

If the major had had any inkling of her mental turmoil, or a shred of pity, it certainly had not blunted the blades of his inquisition. For all that she had given herself as much time for thought as she dared before answering each question – thought that came to her with more and more difficulty – it was not hard to imagine how much harder she would be pressed in the Article 32 hearing, and worse still in the Court Martial if they reached that far. Even now, in the safe surroundings of the High Command’s interview room, she had found herself shaking. Undoubtedly this would not have gone unnoticed by the major. Though he did not comment on it himself it would most certainly be reported to the attorney, who would not scruple for a moment to draw it to the attention of the judge if she could not find a way to control it before then.

And if that were not enough, she had felt the cool, disdainful incredulity of the men on either side of her at her lack of self-control. Until one actually felt the effects of trellium poisoning it must be almost impossible to imagine the devastation of it. Maybe if either of these had been a member of the boarding party they might be more sympathetic, but as it was, they had been safe back home on Vulcan. _Their_ dreams were never shattered by memories of screaming faces with staring eyes, above outstretched hands reaching to claw and tear and kill…

Phlox had done his best to treat her, but even he had told her that the trellium damage could never be completely repaired.

“You may return to your room, Sub-Commander.” T’Sair, the High Command’s spy, told her now, indifferently.

The memories were still too close, the violence and chaos still too real. She wanted to scream at him _They will destroy me in a courtroom_ and _You are fools serving a scoundrel_ but she closed her mouth on the words.

Even now, as she stumbled back to her room, flanked by the inevitable guards, her exhausted mind still scurried in circles.

To judge by the interview, her testimony was doomed to abject failure. If she agreed to appear as a witness for the prosecution, she was going to be ripped apart. 

True, the day before she had been informed by her attorney S’Hella that Doctor Phlox appeared unlikely to feature as a witness for the defense after all; he had carefully kept even a suggestion of a smirk off his face, but when she’d asked bluntly if the V’Shar had had anything to do with this extremely convenient absence he’d denied it with what sounded suspiciously like affronted indignation. That said, Phlox’s testimony from the Starfleet investigation was admissible evidence, and it was powerful enough to have convinced Soval and the rest of the delegates. She was quite sure V’Las could produce at least a couple of medical experts willing to perjure themselves to question Phlox’s findings, but the evidence of her own treatment and significant if only partial ‘cure’ suggested that the Denobulan had understood both the effects of the trellium on the Vulcan nervous system and how to neutralize them. Given that, it was highly doubtful if a judge could be convinced that he had misunderstood the issues involved.

So, unless something else – something so far unrevealed and entirely unexpected – should materialize to bolster their case, the chances of the prosecution succeeding in even persuading the judge at the Article 32 hearing to proceed to Court Martial were remote. For her part, if she did her best to hold up under cross-questioning and performed her part of the bargain faithfully, she could only hope that that would be considered good enough for the shadow of the axe to be withdrawn from her mother’s neck, even if the case itself collapsed. The agreement was for her to testify – nothing had been said about the success of the case, though she was trying to believe that V’Las’s thwarted spite might stop short of decreeing that they had failed because she had not tried hard enough and so the agreement was null and void. If it was established that she had kept her part of the bargain as best she could (perhaps some of the other senior members of the High Command might take her part?), she would take the first opportunity to visit T’Les and drum it into her by whatever means necessary that whatever her private sympathies might be, she _must_ withdraw from any involvement with the Syrrannite faction.

Of what her own future would hold, she tried not to think. By going with _Enterprise_ into the Expanse she had earned instant dismissal from the High Command, just as Ambassador Soval had warned she would. Starfleet, now, would wash their hands of her; at a guess, even now her former colleagues were incredulous at her perfidy in not coming forward immediately to testify on their behalf, though they probably believed she was being prosecuted separately in a Vulcan court. What that incredulity would turn to if and when she declared as a witness for the prosecution was painful to imagine; the captain would be wounded to the bone by what he would perceive as her treachery, the lieutenant hardly less so. As for what Commander Tucker would feel about her, it took all of what self-control she could still muster to refrain from even thinking about it.

All that would be left to her after that was service to the High Command (a useful servant, but hardly a trusted or a valued one, even if they agreed to take her back) and her marriage to Koss.

Logic dictated that what could not be cured must be endured. But even logic did not pretend that that necessarily made it pleasant.

Finally she reached her room. At least there she had the illusion of privacy, if not the reality of it. She crossed to the small kitchen area and drew out a container of fruit juice, which she poured into a glass. The sharpness of it was like nectar on her parched throat as she gulped it down, holding it with both hands because she was not sure one was steady enough to hold it.

She needed to meditate before anything else. She lit a candle and retreated with it to the space set out, with the cushion and small table ready and waiting. But though she composed herself and fixed her gaze on the silken petal of the candle flame, still her thoughts darted like dragonflies, refusing to alight.

If the case did collapse, as so far the indicators were all that it would?

Surely V’Las _must_ have realized by now – he must have known even before this ridiculous case was launched – that his chances of success were negligible?

As far as she knew, he and Captain Archer had never met. It was unlikely in the extreme that a relatively low-profile officer such as Lieutenant Reed could ever even have appeared on the Administrator’s radar. So what on earth had led him to demand the prosecution of two officers to whom all of Vulcan owed a debt that was beyond repaying? A prosecution that had virtually no chance of succeeding?

True, her appearance for the prosecution and subsequent expulsion from Starfleet would benefit Koss and please his family, for they could hardly be pleased by the unorthodoxy of her behaviour. They belonged to an influential clan, and to date had preferred to remain somewhat withdrawn from the political arena; maybe the sacrifice of her career (and indirectly of her) was to woo their support. But if that was the sole aim, surely they could have found some way to hold her blameworthy without dragging in two Starfleet officers who at that moment could scarcely have been held in higher esteem?

The benefit to Vulcan generally and V’Las individually, even if by any remote chance the case succeeded, was negligible. At a guess most moderate Vulcans would be shocked by the prosecution being brought at all. If their species was far less inclined to hysterical demonstrations of gratitude than Humans were, that did not mean they did not acknowledge the magnitude of the debt owed. V’Las and the High Command would lose popularity, even if the case failed.

So there must be some less obvious motive. Something worth taking a colossal risk for – because even if the case did not succeed, relations between Vulcan and Earth would be damaged. Depending on the amount of contrition offered afterwards, the damage could be either papered over or left gaping. But in either case, it would have been done – and the High Command were not noted for their readiness to admit fault and offer apologies.

Why in the name of Surak would V’Las want to risk damage to relations with Earth?

There _was_ no reason for him to want such a thing, especially now the two species were finally starting to achieve a cautious accord. It was therefore logical to assume that could not possibly be his motive. Sooner or later, something would reveal what he was _actually_ after.

And in the meantime, she had better set about the process of restoring herself as best she could. Because twist and turn as she might, she could see no alternative to once again submitting to blackmail. She might, in time, have other captains; she would never have another mother.

T’Les’s safety, perhaps even her life, hung in the balance.

And that was the only thing she had left to care about now.


	25. Chapter 24: Hicks

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Langford.”

Old-fashioned or no, the military taught you manners. Even though the woman who had just been ushered into his office was a civilian, Commander Hicks rose to his feet and extended his hand.

She wasn’t quite what he’d expected in a ‘shrink’. She was on the small side and certainly not formidable, at least not on first impressions; her dark blonde hair framed her face in loose waves, and her pretty, bow-shaped lips (no lipstick, or if there was it was extremely subtle) seemed made for smiling. Her face was a little too rounded for fashionable beauty, but her eyes met his with a directness he didn’t usually associate with women outside of law enforcement or the military. Her handshake, too, was firm, yielding no advantage as she replied formally that the pleasure was mutual; her voice with its distinctive English accent was soft and pleasant on the ear, but did not lack confidence.

“Admiral Forest called and said you want to see my client.” He paid her the compliment of cutting to the chase immediately, after the polite enquiry whether she would care for a drink of the water waiting ready on his desk with two glasses – which she accepted, though whether because she actually needed it or whether she was aware of the strategic aspect of the gesture was a point he declined to speculate on. “I’d imagine you’re aware that your visit and the reasons for it will need to be reported to the prosecution, and that I have to file a motion for an order to permit you to see him.”

He went on to explain the details, some of which it turned out she already knew.

“Primarily, Ma’am, we need you to provide a declaration spelling out why you need to see him. Depending on the reasons, the judge will then decide whether or not to grant you access.

“It would be helpful if you could start by explaining to me exactly who you are, how you come to know Lieutenant Reed and why you regard it as imperative that you see him. Please be frank, whatever you say to me is in complete confidence. Admiral Forrest said ‘irreparable harm’, and that will get us an _ex parte_ hearing, but the declaration will need details.”

She gave him a long, measuring look, which he sustained imperturbably; he liked her better for taking time to think before she spoke. 

“Commander, please believe that I’m willing and anxious to co-operate with you in any way I can – it’s in neither my interest nor in Lieutenant Reed’s interest to do otherwise.

“I’m one of the professionals employed by Starfleet to give help and therapy to personnel whose condition requires highly specific forms of treatment. I’m sure you can understand that the mission to the Expanse placed extraordinary demands on all of the officers and crew of the _Enterprise_ , and they’re all being given appropriate counselling to help them deal with the resultant issues. Our work and their needs are covered by patient confidentiality and with the greatest respect there are some details of my work with Lieutenant Reed I am absolutely not at liberty to discuss, even with you, unless the lieutenant himself specifically gives me permission to do that.”

“Doctor, as I’ve already mentioned, everything discussed in this office is completely confidential.”

She looked at him steadily. “Without wishing in the least to be combative, Commander, I have to make that judgement call, and what I can reveal is strictly limited. The basic fact is that Lieutenant Reed is suffering from severe post-traumatic stress syndrome, massively aggravated by what he perceives as his failure as her Chief Weapons Officer to protect the _Enterprise_ when it was attacked in the Expanse. I am now assigned and committed to his after-care.

“I’m sure you’ve already received my CV and security clearance from Admiral Forrest’s office, but just in case, there’s my license to practise psychology.” She laid it on the table. “I’ll be the first to admit that my methods may be described by some as unorthodox, but that doesn’t seem to affect my success rate – which is why Starfleet continue to employ me.”

She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “I believe I’ve been able to gain some insight into Lieutenant Reed’s mental state, though he’s not an easy man to get to know; he regards any failure to achieve the highest standards he expects of himself and others as a dereliction of his duty.

“Not only would he absolutely refuse to disclose that failure to any ordinary Starfleet medical practitioner, or even admit that he has one, he will hide his vulnerability so well that nobody at all will ever even suspect it until he snaps. And then, Commander, someone will regret it.”

“Let me be clear what you’re saying here, Dr. Langford. You’re suggesting he would become physically aggressive?”

Her eyes were clear pools, a fascinating color midway between green and blue. “Given the right provocation, sir, that’s certainly a possibility. But on the whole I’m more inclined to think he would commit suicide.

“Please don’t tell me he’s held in a safe environment. If a man of Lieutenant Reed’s training and ability decides to end his own life, he _will_ end it.”

Ken took time to consider that.

Suicide would certainly fit the requirement for the need to show ‘irreparable harm’ that was required for an _ex parte_ hearing. Having said that, he wasn’t sure it would fit the bill to use the word ‘suicide’ in their application to allow Dr. Langford access. The staff at the jail would be notified and act immediately, as they were bound by the regulations to do, to take steps to ensure the prisoner’s safety. They would put him on suicide watch, and that would quite possibly increase his stress load rather than reducing it.

He would not, personally, have put Reed down as a suicide risk, except maybe the type of suicide that involved taking out a lot of other people first. He’d have been far readier to credit the possibility that the guy could snap into seriously hostile behavior – at that first meeting he’d been frostily imperious and antagonistic, unconsciously (or, in the circumstances, most likely _consciously_ ) trying to establish a position of control in their relationship. It wasn’t an unusual opening gambit and it hadn’t worked, because his opponent was ready for it and knew the counter-moves. But Reed’s behavior in the first few moments definitely hadn’t been that of a strait-laced, by-the-book, insufferably British officer. As a revelation it might or might not have been accidental, but he definitely didn’t think it was feigned. And as an ex-military man himself, he knew that post-traumatic stress syndrome manifests itself in many ways.

But his specialty was the law. And for all that he was confident in his own expertise in that, he acknowledged the necessity to respect the expertise of others in theirs. If Dr. Langford had been treating Reed already, her assessment of his condition was likely to be far more accurate than his own. She was quite probably completely aware of the simmering hostility in her patient, and the risk of his erupting into violence as a way out.

“Doctor, if it’s your professional opinion that there is a risk of that magnitude, and that a visit from you will reduce the risk, I’m sure we could get it arranged,” he said carefully. “But I have to warn you that if the request for the order was granted, your visit may not be covered by the therapist/patient confidentiality rules. If the prosecution thought it necessary, they could in fact motion to obtain the records and details of your conversation with him. The therapist/patient privilege is not an absolute, particularly in criminal prosecutions. Admittedly, they would have to produce strong arguments for requesting such a thing, with solid reasons why it would be likely to produce relevant evidence. But the possibility exists.”

She listened to him closely, brows knitted. “The admiral has told me what the charges are, but only the bare bones of the case – he said I was to be careful not to discuss what happened in any way, shape or form if I was granted access. I have to admit that if my patient’s history became known, it _could_ support the prosecution’s case. Is there any way we could prevent that from happening?”

“Have you ever testified in court, Ms. Langford?”

“Several times. Though not since I came to work for Starfleet.”

“Then I would suggest that if you agreed to become a part of the defense team, you would have access to the lieutenant _and_ your conversations would be automatically protected by attorney/client privilege. In return, you would be requested to agree to provide evidence in court, specifically about the psychological stress caused by an acutely dangerous environment, and its effects on the human decision-making process.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I could do that.”

“It goes without saying that if you have anything at all that could help with my client’s defense, I want you on the team. Once you’re part of it, anything you reveal or discover is arguably covered by attorney-work product and client confidentiality. If there are issues about his past mental state, and he doesn’t want them disclosed, they won’t be, at least not unless this actually gets as far a trial. If we do get to that stage, and I hope we won’t, if any of his physical and/or psychological problems caused by his service to Starfleet become relevant to either side, they may come in at time of trial.

“If you choose to accept my offer, I’ll allow you access to the relevant defense files. It’ll probably give you greater understanding of how and why it may have affected him. Obviously you’ll need all the information available to refine your approach appropriately when you get access.”

For the first time, he got a smile, though he wasn’t sure what for. “I’m reasonably sure what approach to take, Commander. But you’re right, I should read up on the background before I go. Thank you. I’ll be glad to help you in any way I possibly can, within the parameters we’ve already discussed.”

“Then it’s a deal, Doctor. I’ll organize the paperwork for tomorrow morning. I’d imagine it would be possible to arrange a visit to the jail sometime tomorrow afternoon – you’ll understand the process takes time.”

“Quite so, Commander. Have you ever read _Bleak House_?”

“Dickens, I believe. No, I’ve never gotten around to it. You think I should?”

“Whenever I want an exposition of the toils of the legal system, that’s the book I open.” Her eyes twinkled. “In the meantime, I’m sure you’re a busy man, so I’ll leave you to it.

“What time should I come back tomorrow?”

“I start work at 0600 hours. The forms and files should be ready for you by 0730 hours.”

She inclined her head and stood up. “Then in that case, sir, I shall see you in the morning – seven-thirty on the dot.”

He rose as she did. “I’ll look forward to working with you, Doctor Langford.”

“I’m sure the pleasure will be mutual, Commander.” She exited with a graceful swish of skirts and a slightly roguish parting smile.

He moved to the window, parted the blinds and watched until she exited the building. Instead of immediately summoning a cab, she looked around her with an air of immense and open curiosity. Of course, it was possible she’d never actually been to San Francisco before. If only he’d thought about it, he could have suggested dinner with the team. If they were going to be working together, it would be good to introduce them at the earliest opportunity.

Still, even if she was a stranger she sure didn’t look overwhelmed by the prospect. Within moments she’d come to a decision and crossed the road, heading for a coffee shop. A couple of minutes later he saw her take a vacant seat at the window, where she sat looking out at passers-by with the same air of eager interest.

“Now, how the hell did _you_ come to be working with Starfleet’s battle casualties, Doctor Holly Langford?” he murmured.

Not that that was necessarily his business. Nor would it stop him using her to the maximum to get his job done.

And as a certain Commander Ralph Sinclair had responded to his request for a meeting with surprising alacrity, he might not be the only one who’d be glad of her expertise.


	26. Chapter 25: Langford

“Please wait there, Doctor, and the prisoner will be brought to you shortly.”

Holly nodded politely, which helped to conceal the simmering fury.

Jails were not, by definition, pleasant places. They might not be kind of grim Victorian institution associated with the ‘justice system’ which had inspired Dickens to pen his scathing exposé _Bleak House_ , but they were there to perform a function, and they were good at it.

She had been to one once, back in England, which meant that the procedure did not come as a surprise. Security had to be tight and it was. No doubt the staff had a job to do. It wasn’t the sort of job calculated to make you smile a lot, so she made a special effort to hand out some of her own, on the basis that people who had no smiles were the ones most in need of getting one. Some, it was true, had been reluctantly returned. Most had been blanked.

Still, she tried.

Now she sat quietly, her hands clasped in her lap. She hoped nothing in her face gave away the fact that her heart was hammering.

More than two months had passed since Malcolm had been snatched away from her house. What would those months have done to him?

The door in the far wall opened. A guard ushered in a figure in a grey T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, handcuffed, with a bag over his head, and guided him with brusque efficiency towards the seat opposite. Unsurprisingly, she read the animal tension in the rigid shoulders, which like the upper arms were bulging with new muscle. Baulked of activity, Malcolm would turn to exercise. Violent exercise, to use up all that quiet but superabundant energy that was so much a part of him.

But _handcuffed – blindfolded…!_ It was all she could do not to moan aloud. What would this do to him, on top of captivity? On top of being accused of a crime he would never have committed?

True, Jaguar would have killed those poor men and women on the _Seleya_ without even blinking. But Malcolm had tried so hard to leave that horrible persona behind, had put so much effort into retrieving his naturally honourable and compassionate self. She _couldn’t_ believe that he would have started the process that would end in their deaths without believing from the bottom of his heart that there was no other way to save his colleagues, or without the deepest regret that it was necessary.

The guard sat him down, secured the handcuffs and took hold of the bottom of the bag, which he removed with the hard-eyed efficiency of an action he’d performed so many times it was now completely automatic. Then he retired with it towards the partitioned area on the back wall, where he would remain watchful but out of earshot.

For a single moment Malcolm blinked disbelievingly at her. Then he leaped to his feet, thrust his upper body forward and slammed himself to the limit his handcuffs allowed, turning his left cheek towards her in their special gesture of greeting.

Holly mirrored the action, pressing towards him across the table as though the sensation of it could pass through however many millimetres of air still separated them. Her mind told her it was just her imagination that she could feel it quivering with his yearning to connect with her.

She could, of course, simply move around the table and touch him. But without doubt she would be removed immediately, and by the way the guard spun around, pistol levelled, he already suspected there would be violence at any moment.

She didn’t care what the guard thought. How desperately Malcolm must need this, to act even before he had realised what he was doing.

She didn’t draw back until he did, and when she sat down again there were tears on her face. Slowly he resumed his seat, staring at her like a starving man at a banquet.

Almost as slowly, the guard returned to his watching post and re-holstered his sidearm.

Malcolm didn’t look as ill as she’d feared he might. He looked drawn, as though he didn’t get enough sleep (though that was hardly surprising), but he’d been allowed to shave – she’d feared he might not be allowed to touch a razor in case he found some way to make a weapon of it. His hair needed trimming and was rumpled, but that might have been from having that damn bag put over it. He’d definitely put on a _lot_ of muscle. Even under the T-shirt it was extremely noticeable how much the already well-toned body had filled out.

But his eyes – oh, God...

Throughout the whole of the conversation that followed he never once broke eye contact. He hardly blinked.

Fumbling, she wiped her eyes.

“Malcolm, you’re innocent.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to get you out of here.”

“You’re going to try.”

“It’s ridiculous. It’s _obscene._ ”

“It’s politics.”

“When this stupid case collapses I’m going to take you home to England. I’m going to lie you on the hearthrug and feed you hot buttered crumpets and damson jam.”

“I take it the squirrels didn’t get them all, then.”

“I left them a few.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I’m actually a lookalike, but don’t tell anyone.”

“So who’s looking after the moggy?”

“There’s a cattery in Swaledale.”

“I hope you send Starfleet the bill.”

“They’re already paying for my flights and accommodation apparently. I’m an expert witness as of this morning.”

“What?”

“That’s how I got in here. I’m testifying for the defence, on the subject of the effects of acute stress on the human decision-making process.”

“And on my ... issues?”

“I’m here because I’m treating you for post-traumatic stress disorder from what you went through in the Expanse,” she told him fiercely. “Nothing else. _Nothing_. And Commander Hicks thinks we have a decent chance of stopping it at the hearing.”

“Yes. He’s told me that. I just can’t help thinking ... thinking there’s some connection here to what happened to Trip.” He’d told her about the wedding debacle, secure in having someone to vent his fury and dismay on who would be as safe and secret as a priest in a confessional. “I just can’t work out why it should be happening, not to _us_. I just have this feeling there’s something going on ... Something we _should_ be seeing.” For the first time his focus briefly lengthened past her. “The whole thing’s so bloody stupid. Going on the available evidence, it’s already dying on its legs. But Phlox disappearing – how that happened, it just stinks...”

She hesitated, thinking of that mysterious phone call she’d had shortly before she left England. “Sweetie, there’s something I need to tell you about.”

The grey gaze intensified again. “Go on.”

“I had a phone call. At the cottage, late one night. It was a man’s voice, I’ve no idea who it was, and the telecom system actually said I hadn’t had a call at all. But he said something like, ‘Try not to worry, he’s not alone. We’re going to do our best to help him’.”

“Have you told Hicks about this?”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

She put out a hand and spread her fingertips. His opposing fingertips mirrored them. “You think you know who it was.”

“I have my suspicions, and so do you.”

“Malcolm, we need to be careful. The people who kidnapped Doctor Phlox, they – they shot the guards who were looking after him. If _any_ of this is relevant, we shouldn’t keep the information to ourselves. I haven’t said anything about how or why you were originally referred to me, but I promised Commander Hicks I’d do whatever I could to help him.”

“You won’t be helping him or anyone else by mentioning this. Trust me. I’m glad you told me, though. It – helps.”

“Sweetie, we’re all here for you,” Holly said a little pleadingly. “We’re going to get this stupid case dropped and get you out of here!”

“I know you’ll do your best.” He leaned forward. “But believe me, the High Command have not wasted their time and effort bringing a prosecution they know is going to fail. _Something_ ’s going on. As I said, there’s something we’re not seeing. I can’t see it – but I can bloody well smell it.”

“But why on earth would they want to prosecute you?”

Malcolm shrugged. “They probably don’t, love. At a guess, I’m collateral damage. If they’re bringing charges over the _Seleya_ , we’re all responsible to some degree. I’m not so worried about that any more – as I said, Hicks reckons we’ve got a good chance of getting off on some argument about the needs of the many. I’m more worried now about why T’Pol might agree to testify against us.”

“So you think they may be prosecuting you to get at the captain?”

For the first time, something flickered, far back in his eyes. There was the shortest of pauses before he replied. “It’s a working theory. And God knows, I’ve had plenty of time to come up with them.”

“Tell me what’s worrying you.”

He paused. “Look. I told you what Trip said – about T’Pol being blackmailed to marry that prick she’d been engaged to?

“Well, it only just occurred to me yesterday – what if she’s been blackmailed to testify against us as well?”

Holly frowned doubtfully. “Why? And who by?”

“Pity knows, I don’t. It sounds ridiculous! But it fits the pattern. I’ve struggled all along with the idea that she would deliberately attack the captain – or me, for that matter. What if she doesn’t want to, but _has_ to? To protect her mother?

“Blackmail’s a bloody useful tool, Holly. Far too useful to only use once.”

“But – if you and Captain Archer could be discredited... Who would gain from that? The High Command...”

Immediately he laid the index finger of his free hand against his lips, ordering silence. “Now we’re out of our league. Go to Admiral Forrest and tell him. Now, this minute. He may laugh you out of the office, who knows? But I doubt it, if you tell him T’Pol’s been blackmailed once and is most likely being used again.

“After that, who he chooses to talk to about it is up to him. But if I were him, I’d be damn careful about who he picks. Actually you should be just as damn careful when and where you tell him – preferably fifty metres from any other person or even an item of shrubbery, in the middle of Golden Gate Park.”

She glanced desperately at her chronometer. “I need to go – you’re right, he should know about this straight away. Listen – whatever happens, don’t give up. Please, I’m asking you, don’t lose hope. We _will_ get you out! You’ll be reinstated, and whatever’s going on here, we’ll get it sorted!”

He tilted his head slightly. Jaguar gleamed at her, mocking and bitter. “How long can a man go on, Holly? How often can he break and be mended? When others deliberately set out to change everything you are, how do you find your way back to what you were?”

“Everyone can go on until they decide to stop, Malcolm. You were never a quitter. You never gave up. And I won’t believe you’ve decided to do it now.”

“I haven’t _yet_.”

“‘Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,’” she whispered. 

For a terrible moment she feared he wasn’t going to respond. But as she continued, she heard him join in, his voice hardly more than a breath: “‘...Or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever-fixéd mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.’”

“ _Please_ , Malcolm, hold on to that. I’ll always be here for you. I want you to believe that.”

His smile had softened, turned wry. “If our Vulcan friends get their way, I’ll definitely always be here for you. Possibly for quite a number of years.”

 _At least he’s not threatening to do anything stupid._ “You’re a shithead. Remember me mentioning that?”

“It’s one of the most precious memories I have.”

 _Damn._ Did he bloody well want her to cry again? “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” she said, swallowing.

“You’re a lot more worth seeing than our mutual friend the Commander, bless his cotton socks.”

“If you do get out of here, it’ll be completely thanks to him,” she scolded, trying not to laugh.

“I know. I’m just trying to make you walk out of here smiling.”

“I don’t want to walk out of here at all.”

“Murder one of the guards on your way out,” he suggested. “There’s one ugly bastard who insists dipping chips in mayonnaise is perverted. Nobody’d miss _him_.”

“Malcolm Reed, I don’t believe there’s any such person!” Holly wiped her eyes. “Look – I have to go.”

“Make an excuse to come back soon.” He lifted his index finger and touched it against the air, opposite her nose. “Off you go, Trouble.”

She leaned to press her nose as close to his fingertip as she could reach. “You don’t get rid of me that easily, Shithead.”

Standing up to leave felt like an execution. But she smiled bravely at him as she did it, because he wanted to see that – he _needed_ to see that. And finally it felt as if she was doing something, contributing to the war effort. Even messenger pigeons had helped win the First World War.

The guard was already coming forward with the bag. She kept the smile pinned in place as she watched Malcolm hooded like a damned hawk, untethered and pulled out of the chair. From the angle of his head as he was led to the door, she thought he was craning back over his shoulder, straining back to where he’d left the one person he could truly connect to.

She got as far as her hired flitter before she broke down and sobbed.

But she only allowed herself two minutes of weakness, and then she pulled herself together and started the engine.

She had information to pass on.


	27. Chapter 26: Archer

“Trip!”

“Am I allowed to come in?” Tucker stood uneasily in the doorway. 

Which really wasn’t surprising, because until you got used to them being there, two armed MACOs outside the door kind of put the brakes on normality.

Still, the pleasure at seeing someone who wasn’t Commander Sinclair was immense, and Jon immediately invited him in.

Being ‘confined to base’ meant that he was allowed any visitors he chose, though he was strongly recommended not to discuss anything about the case with them. Although no doubt the word had gone around fast enough (after all, there were problems ignoring the two camo-uniformed guys with sidearms who shadowed him wherever he went), he still felt uncomfortable going around the place with them in tow. So right now he was doing most of his work at his desk, solely because being the object of such an immense level of covert curiosity made his skin crawl. Most times he ate his meals in his quarters too, because at least when his guards were out in the corridor it was easier to forget they were there.

True, Max said the excuse that was being given out was that viable threats had been made against his life. With Terra Prime in full cry, at least that had the virtue of being plausible. But when you knew that the reality was that you were a prisoner on remand, it was a whole lot less easy to live with.

Awkwardly Trip now took a seat in one of the armchairs, and Jon poured each of them a glass of bourbon.

Then there was a rather uncomfortable silence, while clearly both of them wondered what to say. The upcoming hearing was the elephant in the room, but they’d both been forbidden to discuss that.

Finally Jon broke it. “I’d say I hoped you were feeling better for your leave, but I think you look worse for it than I do.”

“Yeah. It’s … I haven’t been doin’ so good.” He looked down into the glass in his hand, swirling the golden spirit slowly.

“Anything I can do to help?” The irony wasn’t lost on him, but theoretically he still had some influence. True, his and Trip’s friendship was no longer what it was – the business with the Vissian cogenitor had left scars, mostly because neither of them had ever gotten the time and the courage to search the wounds – but he never forgot the debt he owed the engineer for helping him get the NX prototype off the ground.

The younger man sighed deeply and shook his head. “Just a matter of time, I guess.”

The name hovered between them, unspoken. Even in HQ the captain had heard the gossip that what had been dubbed by the fucking media ‘The Romance in the Expanse’ had crashed and burned. Not that he’d believed there had been any damn romance to start with, and the day he’d heard about that particular rumor he’d cursed in a way that would have made a dockside bargeman blench.

Now, though – looking at the drooping fair head opposite him, the wearily bowed shoulders…

“Trip, there … there wasn’t anything…”

“She’s a married woman now.” The words fell flat, like topping monoliths. “So whatever there was or there wasn’t, there sure as hell isn’t now.”

Jon sat down limply. “When the hell did _this_ start?”

Tucker shrugged. “Not sure it matters. It was never what you’d call the romance of the century anyway. Maybe it was just one more of those damn anomalies. How should I know why a Vulcan does anything?”

“You could have talked to me.”

Trip’s head came up at that. “No, Jon, I couldn’t,” he said flatly. “It’s not like I’m blamin’ you, God know you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, but if anyone said a word about anythin’ other than ‘the mission’, you didn’t want to know.”

Resentment flared briefly, but was extinguished under the weight of the honesty of the accusation. He could claim that he’d had to devote every waking moment to the search for the Weapon, and it was a truth Trip knew as well as he did. It was just another burden he’d have to carry for the rest of his life that somewhere along the line he’d lost the leader he’d used to be, the captain his officers and crew could turn to.

Victory always came with a price attached…

Still, it was harder than it should have been not to plead justification, to offer excuses. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Maybe it had been somewhere in the same corner of hell that he’d turned into a captain who’d contemplate destroying his tactical officer to save his own skin, who’d throw an innocent man to the wolves rather than let mud splatter his father’s monument. Because as soon as Commander Sinclair laid out just what it would mean if he lost the Court Martial and what he could do to save himself, he’d fallen in with the plans that in another life would have made him sick to the soul, even while he prayed guiltily to Fate that he’d never have to actually carry them out.

Fortunately, that particular horror was no longer on the table. After separately weighing up their individual options the two attorneys had finally put their heads together and decided they had a better chance if they presented a united front against the enemy.

Still, that didn’t erase the mirror that had been briefly held up in front of him, in which he’d seen yet another face reflected that wasn’t what he’d ever hoped to be…

 _Reed will sell you out to save himself, Captain,_ Sinclair had said. _That’s exactly what his attorney will advise him to do, and unless he’s a total goddamn fool he’ll do it._

Sinclair hadn’t seen the tense, stubborn face behind the EV suit’s faceplate as the air hissed out of the hose the day Malcolm took the unilateral decision that his death would make it easier for the captain to save _Enterprise_ by detaching the piece of hull plating with him still attached to it. Reed was twenty different sorts of a goddamn fool, all of them loyal.

He’d been the same kind of a fool himself. Until now.

“Maybe it was a stupid idea to come here in the first place.” Trip downed the bourbon and set down his glass.

The words jerked Jon from his bleak abstraction. “No – to tell you the truth, Trip, I’m glad of the company. I guess I’ve just got too much to think about right now.”

“You and me both.” A sour smile played around the engineer’s mouth. “Remember the last time we had a drink like this, the night we set out to find the Xindi?”

How long ago it seemed now. They’d burned with the fervor of crusaders.

Maybe it was just as well they’d had no idea of the costs to come; not just in lives, but in broken relationships, compromised consciences. ‘ _Take what you want,’ says God. ‘And pay for it.’_

But talking was so difficult. The past was hedged about with resentments and guilt; the future was … well, the hearing was sitting square in the middle of it, and until that was dealt with it was hard to see anything else.

“Look, Jon, I know we’ve been told not to discuss this.” Without asking, Trip helped himself to another slug of bourbon and stared down into it. “But I’ve been told I may have to testify at this hearin’, which is fine by me, but I’m askin’ you if you’ve heard anythin’ about T’Pol bein’ mentioned.”

The captain’s heart sank. “No, Trip, I haven’t,” he said quietly. “It’s always possible the Vulcans may be dealing with her through their own justice system.”

“And it’s always possible that they’re not.” The blue eyes met his squarely. “An’ if they’re not, an’ we haven’t heard hide nor hair of her since all this started, we know why not.”

“She … she’s married, Trip. Maybe…”

“She didn’t care a cuss for that asshole.” The savagery of the reply startled him. “An’ don’t bother tryin’ to explain it away with Vulcan customs or any of that shit. She was forced to marry him, pure an’ simple.”

“She told you that?”

“I had to _watch_ it!” On the word, the glass hurtled through the air to smash against the wall. “An’ every minute since, she’s been miserable. Every goddamn minute!”

 _She’s not the only one, obviously, but how the hell do you know?_ “You’ve been in touch?”

“Not exactly,” he scowled. “This guy told me to get in touch with her.”

“Which guy?”

“No idea. He just told me. And not to involve Starfleet. So I did. Or rather, Hoshi did.”

Jon was conscious of mounting alarm; Sinclair hadn’t mentioned any of this. Did he even know about it? “And?”

“Jon, there’s something going on here. Don’t ask me how I know – I just know, right? She was forced to marry that asshole an’ she’s bein’ forced again. You’re gonna see her testifyin’ against you.”

“If she’s being forced to testify we should have that investigated.”

“Investigated by who? An’ who’ll believe me anyway?” The engineer flung up his hands. “Maybe _I_ need a shrink, I’m sure startin’ to feel like it!”

A shadowy smile. “We’ve got one on the team now, if you mean that.”

Trip stared. “A shrink?”

“She’s qualified to testify to the effects of stress on decision-making. Sinclair doesn’t think we’ll need her, or you either, but it doesn’t hurt to have all the help we can get. Apparently she knows Malcolm from way back.”

“I swear, Jon, that guy’s a regular Don Juan. He may not look like much, but believe me, he’s a player. He probably wrote _her_ a farewell letter in Shuttlepod One too.” Just for a moment it was almost like it had been ‘back then’, but the weight of reality crushed the forced joke into the floor and the grin faded and died. “Have you heard how he’s copin’?”

“No. Probably not so well. Especially not when he’s locked up in a damn jail cell.” Archer sipped moodily at his bourbon. “I’ve tried to find out why he’s getting different treatment to me. If anything it should be me in the jail cell, I was the one in command. But nobody’s saying. Even Max just came out with some bull about him having the expertise to make a run for it if he decided to. Like Malcolm Reed’s the kind of guy to break out of jail and run!”

Trip leaned back and ran his hands through his hair. It was already rumpled, so it didn’t make all that much difference. “And still no sign of Phlox?”

“No. And that’s _another_ thing that makes no sense. How the hell did they manage to get him away with nobody seeing? Every ship that docked at Jupiter Station that day was traced and searched from top to bottom. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”

The sigh seemed fetched up from the bottom of the engineer’s lungs. “Let’s face it, none of this whole damn thing makes sense. I just don’t get how we got from there to here. I keep waitin’ for someone to throw open the door and shout ‘FOOLED YA!’”

“Well, the only ones who are going to do that are the Vulcans.” Jon looked at him grimly. “And if I were you I wouldn’t waste too much time expecting that door to open.”


	28. Chapter 27: Reed

_Scenery._

It was wonderful. Even viewed through the darkened windows of the secure vehicle that took him from the prison yard, it was astonishing. Eyes that had gazed with the indifference of repetition at streaking stars on _Enterprise_ ’s viewscreen now drank in the common-or-garden details of life in the streets through which he was driven as though they were nectar to the soul.

If he’d realised when that shuttlepod landed in Holly Langford’s back yard that he was going to be marched away to rot for months while the law ground its excruciating way to deciding even whether he deserved to be tried, he was by no means sure that he’d have submitted half so tamely. If he’d been on his own, on neutral territory, he probably wouldn’t have. But instead, hamstrung by his surroundings and the utter impossibility of dragging Holly into a police scene and a potential tragedy, he’d gone as meekly as a lamb to the slaughter.

So this – his first step outside the prison for just under three months – was his first reminder that there was more to life than the vista outside his window, a view with which he’d grown so intimately familiar that he could have sat down and drawn every line of it by memory. 

Pity alone knew how people coped when they were shut away for years. He couldn’t, not for this. He’d already decided that, and was at peace with the decision. If something went wrong – if his attorney’s steady confidence in his acquittal should somehow be proved wrong, and it went to Court Martial and sentence – then there would be an end, and as bloody and costly a one as he could manage, if only to bring to the attention of the world the injustice that had been perpetrated on him. If he had been accused, tried and found guilty of any of the many things he had done that justified a sentence he would have endured it somehow, but to be found guilty when he was innocent was unendurable by any means.

He recognised where they were going, but it was taken aback when the vehicle turned into a gate he’d never used before and drove down to a secure underground flitter park. The sudden darkness made it completely impossible to see anything more than the occasional glint of reflected light outside, and Malcolm coiled into himself and tensely awaited developments.

The transport came to a stop. Moments later the door was slid open and he was helped out through it, his head once more covered up.

Over the next few minutes his ears told him that he was being walked through several sets of guard posts. Then taken into a lift; he heard the small sound of the button being pressed and mentally assessed how high it was on an average panel. He guessed their destination was a respectable number of floors up, but that, of course, depended on the precise layout of the control panel and the size of the lift buttons.

The sound of the lift car’s travel – very smooth and fast – sounded familiar. As Commander Hicks had predicted, the preliminary hearing was being held in Starfleet HQ, almost certainly in a portion of the complex he’d never had occasion to visit before: the legal arm, where the courtrooms and secure cells were. Most likely the hearing itself would be too.

Out of the lift car, turned left. Walked several hundred metres. The flooring was smooth and highly polished – marble, at a guess; the echoes suggested space. The light gleaming intermittently through the linen was on his left hand side.

Locks disengaging. A holding cell – where he would be kept until his attorney came to collect him.

A wait, sitting motionless on the bench.

Voices outside, the locks disengaging again. It was time for him to be taken up to the courtroom; the session must be about to start.

Snakes churning in his stomach, fanged things with nothing to bite.

 _Pre-trial conference._ Held in a JAG courtroom, though only the presiding judge and a few necessary court functionaries would be present. He already knew who else would be there: the attorneys on both sides, himself, and...

The bag was dragged off his head.

He was in the courtroom. Instinctively he looked around, assessing threats and escape routes as well as the personnel present.

One of a number of Reed uncles was a High Court Judge, so Malcolm had seen a British courtroom, but this was slightly different. The Judge’s bench was – as expected – elevated and in a central position. On either side of the aisle that headed to the bar (a hip high wall, with doors that swung open as you walked through) there were a number of rows of seats for spectators to sit in, currently unoccupied. Past the bar was what must be counsel’s table, with chairs for the attorneys and their clients.

There was no jury section here, nor a ‘dock’ where the accused would sit as in a British courtroom. Instead the accused were allowed to sit beside their attorneys, presumably so they could confer if necessary. The prosecution would sit on the right, the side that the witness box was on.

The only person occupying the ‘well’, the area between counsel’s table and the judge’s bench, was the court reporter, who was sitting there at a small table.

Seated beside an oldish, bearded, military guy who must be his attorney Commander Sinclair, the captain looked well, all things considered. He’d managed to catch some sunshine at least. But that was probably rather easier when you had the run of Starfleet Headquarters rather than a two-by-three-metre jail cell into which the sun only penetrated for a small part of the day.

The defendants were not allowed to communicate with each other, but that didn’t stop them from locking eyes. Once upon a time it would have been unalloyed gladness and relief, and they still exchanged a tense smile, but things had changed.

Deep down things had changed.

Was that only on _his_ part?

Inevitably, the prosecution attorneys were there too. A treaty between United Earth government and Vulcan permitted Vulcan counsel to appear in court, with appropriate licensed Earth attorney, in any matter pertaining to Vulcan interest, and vice versa for United Earth attorneys. Malcolm allowed himself a brief, searing stare at them before he sat down beside Commander Hicks.

They weren’t that dissimilar. Rather taller than him, probably, when standing up, and their lined faces were ascetic. They didn’t _look_ like the type who’d railroad two innocent men to prison, but then as he had the best of reasons to know, you could rarely tell a villain by looking at one. Both looked somewhat elderly, more so than Soval; both were dressed in sombre dark grey. S’Hella, the senior of the two, who would be conducting the prosecution, was the smaller and slenderer of the two and sat upright, his stare abstracted. V’Rei, his junior, hunched into his robes like a disgruntled vulture, and seemed to brood as if waiting for a corpse to materialise.

Fortunately, the wait – accompanied by a rather awkward silence – was not a long one. Only a few moments had passed before the clerk of the court opened the door and announced the arrival of the presiding judge. Malcolm’s fists clenched involuntarily: _Now for it._

Even though this was only a preliminary, it was still customary for everyone present to rise out of respect. The door in the left-hand side of the wall behind the bench opened, and the judge walked out.

Hicks had already told him a woman would be trying the case. Not that her gender made her any the less formidable. A quick, assessing glance suggested that she’d give Uncle Alastair a run for his money, and he was the terror of the Bar.

The bailiff called the court to order. “Department A is now in session, the honorable Commander Augustine, judge presiding.”

It appeared that theirs was to be the only case in this session. Commander Augustine called the four attorneys forward and they introduced themselves formally.

“Have there been any settlement discussions out of court?” she demanded.

“No, Your Honor,” Commander Sinclair responded.

“Very well. My clerk will advise you which room is free. I want you to hold that discussion and if no settlement is forthcoming, I’ll see you in my chambers.”

She rose, and so did everyone else. With a brief nod, she turned around and walked back out.

Malcolm had already been coached in the procedure. Whether or not there had been talks, the judge would order some more, just in case a last-minute agreement could be reached.

The clerk of the court was therefore prepared, and escorted the other three out. Captain Archer was allowed to sit on one of the benches outside if he so chose, but only the attorneys were allowed to take part in the settlement discussions. He himself, a prisoner in custody, had to remain in his seat – handcuffed to it, with the court bailiff watching him to make sure he didn’t start tinkering with the locking mechanism.

_Anybody would think I was ex-Black Ops._

Time passed. Outside the clouds tracked across the sky, and a finger of sunshine pried into the room. It seemed displeased by what it saw, for it went away again and did not return.

Then the door opened and everyone trooped back into the courtroom, where the judge also seemed displeased, if not precisely surprised, to hear that no settlement had been reached. The legal representatives were summoned for a discussion in her chamber, while both the accused were left outside to wait – the failure to agree was not an unexpected development, it appeared.

Even if they hadn’t already been warned they would not be allowed to talk to each other, words would probably not have come readily to either of the _Enterprise_ men. They sat silently, separated by Commander Hicks’ empty chair, waiting for their fate to be disposed of by others.

Time passed. Malcolm shut his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing and then his pulse.

Finally the door to the inner sanctum of the courtroom opened and the attorneys emerged. The two Vulcans walked straight to the door, their expressions tight with distaste.

The pretrial conference was done with.

For all his efforts at self-control, Malcolm’s nervous system was shuddering with unspent adrenaline as he followed Commander Hicks into a private room for debriefing.

“It’s all arranged,” his attorney said. “The hearing’s taking place on Friday.”

 _Only five days._ Only as his knees went weak with relief did he realise how much he’d been dreading more interminable weeks of waiting.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this.” The words broke from him before he realised he was going to say anything. 

“Unless they spring anything on us they haven’t declared in the paperwork, Lieutenant, I doubt it’ll go any further.” Hicks looked at him levelly. “Obviously as a lawyer I never make promises I may not be able to deliver on, but based on the witness’s recorded statement, I can drive twenty trucks through her testimony.

“Commander Augustine already told the prosecution flat out their case won’t stand up,” he continued. “Even without our expert witnesses, we have enough material to knock it straight out of the court.

“The articles of law the High Command have agreed to include the concept of military necessity. The most important clause from our point of view states that ‘an attack on any target and the harm caused to civilians and property must be proportional and not excessive in relation to the concrete and direct military advantage anticipated’.

“We’re going to argue that the destruction of the _Seleya_ was a military necessity on your behalf, to prevent advanced Vulcan technology falling into the hands of the Xindi. The crew had become unable to provide the appropriate protection to that technology and thus the ship became a legitimate military target for the _Enterprise_.

“As for the deaths of the crew, the harm caused to them was proportional, in relation to the military advantage that could be anticipated by your survival, i.e., the finding of the Xindi weapon and the protection of billions of lives on Earth.

“There’s not a judge breathing who’ll argue with that.”

Malcolm contemplated what the captain’s reaction would be to this report. This hadn’t been what he signed on for when he took command. _Enterprise_ had been designed as a ship of exploration, and now their defence was being based on its assumed status as an instrument of war.

He himself could almost have laughed. Some wars were declared, some just were. Not every soldier marches in the sun and wears a uniform.

“So, failing any developments in the meantime, we reconvene here in five days’ time.” His attorney’s glance was sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but if things go according to plan you only have to endure this till the end of the hearing.”

Five days.

Five days, counting the hours. Driving his body harder and harder, till by the time he ended his sets his limbs were quivering with exhaustion, the sweat running off him.

It was paying off, though. Today was the first time he’d been allowed to wear a uniform (bare of patches, pips or any form of identification – he was still being kept like Starfleet’s dirty secret, a tactic that would have reduced him to hysterics with the irony if he’d let himself think about it) and he could feel that the shoulders and upper arms were tight. When he got back to _Enterprise_ , and it fucking well _was_ ‘when’, he’d have a job for the Quartermaster. 

The thought of bursting out of his flight suit like the Incredible Hulk as soon as he raised a phase rifle to shoulder level was simply too awful to contemplate.


	29. Chapter 28: Archer

_The hearing._

Finally they’d gotten here. 

Everyone was in their parade best. Even Malcolm had been allowed to wear his dress uniform, with the medals on it – one that Jon hadn’t seen before was a plain mid-blue ribbon with a silver bar and cross on it, presumably a British honor he’d kept quiet about receiving, though the handcuffs at his wrists provided a note of bitter irony.

Just as before, the judge entered and the legal necessities were gone through. Then it was time to set about the hearing itself.

S’Hella _,_ as the senior prosecutor, spoke first, with immense dignity. “Good Morning your Honor, Counsellor S’Hella of Vulcan, appearing pursuant to the treaty of Legal Reciprocity between United Earth and Vulcan, for United Earth in this Article 32 hearing. We are ready. I estimate two days for the hearing.”

Then it was the defense’s turn. “Good morning, your Honor. Lieutenant Commander Kenneth Hicks for defendant Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, we’re ready for the Article 32 hearing. I estimate three to four days for the hearing.” 

Sinclair echoed it, changing only the names.

“Then as this is the only case set, we’ll start immediately.” The judge glanced at the Vulcan. “Please call your first witness.”

Sinclair immediately made a motion to exclude all witnesses from the courtroom, and requested that they be ordered not to discuss the case outside the courtroom, which the Court ordered immediately. They filed out silently. Jon still couldn’t resist turning his head to stare at Phlox as he went.

Right up till five minutes before the hearing was due to start, the doctor had still been listed as officially missing. Then he’d come hurrying up the corridor, his beam of goodwill fading quickly to acute concern.

“I really don’t have time to explain,” he’d said, brushing off their exclamations at his arrival – the Vulcans in particular looked dumbstruck, which might repay consideration at some other time.

“I’ve been perfectly safe, Captain, and I’ve been kept apprised of developments. I’m entirely at your disposal as a witness if I’m required.” And he’d glanced, a little sadly, at the slight figure standing silently between the two Vulcan representatives, the hood of her robe drawn forward over her head to hide her face.

S’Hella stated, “The prosecution calls T’Pol as its first witness.”

 _T’Pol_. 

It still wasn’t real that she was here, that she was going to take the witness stand against her own fellow-officers. Jon clung desperately to the belief that she wasn’t doing this of her own free will. Maybe, as he’d suggested five days ago, it was something expected of her. Vulcan society was unbending in the extreme when it came to the expectations laid down by ancient tradition; the chasm between the rigidity of their philosophy and religion and the flexibility of the acutely inquiring minds that must have been necessary for the technological strides they had made was almost impossible for an outsider to fathom.

She wasn’t a free agent anymore. She was a wife, with a wife’s loyalties and responsibilities. Maybe that was more important now than her loyalties to Starfleet. But he couldn’t help but think again of Trip’s passionate conviction that she was being forced into this.

She looked a little pale and tired, but composed enough. Surely if she needed help, she’d look at him? The absence of so much as a glance of … regret, of appeal, of _anything_ , ached like a wound. 

He watched her move to the witness box, where she lifted her hands and pushed back her hood. Then she lifted her right hand and was sworn in – Vulcans had no sacred text, so she did not swear on anything but used the alternative version: “I solemnly affirm that the evidence that I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

S’Hella, standing at Counsel’s table, addressed T’Pol in an almost fatherly tone. “Lady T’Pol, would you please describe the events immediately prior to the discovery of the Vulcan ship _Seleya_ in the Expanse?” 

In a soft voice, with eyes fixed slightly downward so as not to look at the accused, she began, “We had been carrying out a systematic search for the Xindi Weapon and one night Captain Archer and Commander Tucker decided to review some of the Xindi star charts in hope they might reveal the location of more of the Spheres we had established were integral to the existence of the Expanse itself.

“During the course of the discussion, the captain received a call from Ensign Hoshi Sato, our Communications Officer. She had received an automated distress call and identified the source as Vulcan.”

“What happened next after the call from Ensign Sato?” asked S’Hella.

Still without lifting her gaze, T’Pol said, “I was able to identify the frequency of the call as belonging to the _Seleya_ , which had entered the Expanse nine months ago. The captain ordered Ensign Sato to continue hailing the _Seleya_ and Ensign Travis Mayweather to set an intercept course.

“On arrival at the _Seleya_ ’s location we found that the ship was in an extremely dangerous situation, in an asteroid field where the erratic movement of the asteroids suggested that their paths might be the result of spatial anomalies, which we had already encountered aboard _Enterprise_ , and which we had been informed could be countered by plating the ship’s hull with trellium. It was immediately obvious why the _Seleya_ was in this area, as Commander Tucker identified the fact that the asteroids were extremely rich in the raw trellium ore. It was a natural assumption that the crew had intended to harvest the ore, process it and coat the hull to protect themselves.”

“And what happened next?"

She continued obediently. “The asteroid field was too dense and dangerous for _Enterprise_ herself to be risked. The captain ordered Lieutenant Reed to be instructed to meet both of us in the Launch Bay and ordered Commander Tucker to attempt to harvest some of the ore for use on our own ship.

“As Head of Security, Lieutenant Reed made the decision to also bring along a MACO to provide additional protection, a Corporal Hawkins.”

Counsel nodded. “What happened after you boarded the shuttlepod?”

“As an experienced pilot, the captain took the helm of the shuttlepod, steering us through the asteroid field while I assisted as his navigator, advising him of the presence and movement of asteroids that might pose a threat to us and required course changes to avoid,” T’Pol responded. “We were thus able to evade any serious damage to the vessel, although the journey was extremely hazardous.

“During the flight I offered to take the helm in order to allow the captain to rest, but instead he requested me to ‘fill him in’ on the details of the _Seleya.”_

“And, what did you tell the Captain?” asked S’Hella.

“I informed him that I had served on the ship for over a year as its deputy science officer under Captain Voris before joining the Vulcan consulate on Earth.

“Our last information was that the _Seleya_ had been attempting to chart the thermobaric perimeter of the Expanse when they were pulled into the Expanse itself by some kind of subspace eddy. No further transmissions were heard from them.

“The _Vaankara_ was dispatched to find them, entering the Expanse in December 2152. Less than two days later, the High Command received a distress call from the _Vaankara_ , and six hours after that came the last transmission – footage of the crew killing one another with their bare hands. The _Vaankara_ itself suffered a catastrophic explosion after that, which was believed to have been the result of a self-destruct command. Captain Archer had already seen that footage during preparations for _Enterprise_ ’s voyage, and stated that he hoped the crew of the _Seleya_ had fared a little better.”

“What happened next?” prompted the attorney.

“Lieutenant Reed carried out a scan of the _Seleya_ and reported that main power was offline and the hull was extensively damaged. In response to an inquiry from Corporal Hawkins he also reported that minimal life support was present, except in decks twelve and thirteen, which had decompressed.

“My scans revealed multiple biosigns, and Captain Archer hailed the ship, but without reply. I identified that the starboard docking port was still intact, and we connected to it and made our way on board the _Seleya_.”

S’Hella consulted his notes. “After boarding the Seleya, what did you observe?”

Her voice still soft but level, T’Pol replied, “It was immediately obvious that the area had suffered damage. There were exposed live electric wires in a dangerous condition, and a considerable amount of debris. Lieutenant Reed reported that the crew of the _Seleya_ had been lining the nearby bulkhead with trellium but the task had not been anywhere approaching completed.

“My scanner revealed the presence of biosigns on this deck, but the signal was so confused it was impossible to isolate them. The captain therefore ordered our search party to split into two. Shortly afterwards, from a distance, I heard Lieutenant Reed comment that he had found traces of Vulcan blood.

“The damage to the ship’s superstructure meant that the doors no longer worked effectively, if at all. Captain Archer and I presently had to force our way into a blocked compartment, and from the one beyond that we heard a banging sound as if someone was trying to make their way out.

“We used our combined strength to open the door, but were immediately attacked by a Vulcan wielding a metal bar. I attempted to shoot this individual with a phase pistol set to stun, thereby rendering him harmless, but the shot seemed to have little effect on him. The captain himself was finally able to disarm and stun him.”

Despite the calm of her recital, the retelling of it brought back memories Jon had tried hard to banish. The heat and tension aboard the _Seleya_ , the mounting anxiety as his Vulcan XO had begun to deteriorate before his eyes. She’d been their only guide on this massive ship, and he hadn’t realized how quickly the trellium would begin to affect her too. In hindsight it might have been wiser if she’d worn an EV suit, though of course they hadn’t known at the time that the trellium was toxic to Vulcans. And making their way through those hazard-strewn corridors had been difficult even without the encumbrance of a suit; how she’d have gotten across that girder at the end, even if they’d managed to get that far, was a question he preferred not to contemplate.

He pulled his mind back to the present with a shudder.

“What happened next?” S’Hella inquired.

“On scanning the casualty I discovered that his synaptic pathways had been severely damaged. The captain instructed that he should be carried to the shuttlepod, and we were about to carry out this order when we were approached by two other members of the Vulcan crew. They were plainly hostile and disregarded the captain’s order to keep their distance. As a result of this he opened fire on them both, stunning them.”

“And what happened after this incident?”

T’Pol did not raise her eyes. “The captain contacted Lieutenant Reed to ask whether he had encountered anyone (he had not) and to warn him to take additional care, as the crew had been affected by something and were now highly aggressive. It proved to be a timely warning, as Reed and Hawkins were immediately attacked by a large group of Vulcans. The captain ordered us to go to the rescue, and if not for our arrival it is probable that both of them would have been killed, as they were considerably outnumbered.

“My scanner revealed the presence of seven more of what must now be considered to be hostiles, and Lieutenant Reed was clearly of the opinion that with insufficient numbers we were now in acute danger. Captain Archer made the decision that we should withdraw.

“On the way back to the shuttle, I observed Corporal Hawkins – without instruction from a superior officer – adjusting the setting on his rifle. I immediately challenged him on this action and he replied that since the stun setting was plainly not working on this occasion, we should set our weapons to kill. I informed him that the crew of the _Seleya_ were Vulcan officers and we were on a rescue mission, to which he replied that they did not seem to want our help. I reinforced the order and Captain Archer intervened to confirm that the weapons should be kept on stun, at which Corporal Hawkins complied.”

“After the incident with Corporal Hawkins, what happened next?” the Vulcan Prosecutor asked.

“We reached the docking hatch without further event but found two Vulcan crewmembers standing over it. Captain Archer was attempting to establish communication with them when a bulkhead was dropped across the corridor in front of us. It was clearly done deliberately, and there was no way we could get around it.

“We were then attacked again, from behind and in force. We managed to climb up a ladder to the next deck and secure the hatch behind us, but discovered that communication between us and _Enterprise_ was now impossible. I suggested that if we could make our way to the _Seleya_ ’s bridge we might be able to use their communications system.  
  


"The bridge was seven decks above us and we were facing a potential enemy force of one hundred and forty seven hostiles, including those we had already dealt with who would eventually recover. Lieutenant Reed suggested trying to escape on one of the _Seleya_ ’s shuttlepods, but although he was correct that the launch bay was on this deck it had depressurized, probably from an asteroid impact. Captain Archer decided that we would somehow have to return to our own shuttlepod, though I advised that this would be difficult, as all four bulkheads leading to the airlock had been sealed.”

The Prosecutor consulted his notes again. “Then, what happened?”

“Corporal Hawkins had sustained an injured arm in the fighting and Lieutenant Reed was concerned at the amount of blood being lost. Captain Archer asked the location of Sickbay and upon learning that it was two decks up he decided that we should make our way there.

“He asked if I was feeling all right and I replied that ever since coming aboard the _Seleya_ I had been conscious of an increased sense of anxiety. It was logical to suppose that whatever had happened to the crew was starting to affect me. He replied that ‘We’ll get you out of here as soon as we can’.

“By the time we reached Sickbay the anxiety was increasing. On entering, we were attacked by another member of the crew, who was also stunned,” T’Pol said, her voice now barely audible.

S’Hella nodded sympathetically. “What happened after you arrived in sickbay?”

“There was a Vulcan officer restrained there in an isolation pod, and Captain Archer asked if I could identify what was causing this problem. I informed him that I was not a doctor and he replied that I was his science officer and he needed to know he could depend on me.”

 _You got that right_ , thought Jon.In this appallingly hostile environment, in a huge and unknown ship, without communication or maps or guidance of any kind, she’d been effectively their lifeline. He’d blocked out the thought of what would happen to any of the rest of them if anything happened to her.

“The individual in the isolation pod was familiar to me from my time aboard the _Seleya_. He was the Chief Engineer, a man named Solin. We succeeded in waking him and I tried to communicate with him, but it did not appear that he understood anything I was saying. He became violent, and only the restraints prevented him from attacking us.

“I informed the captain that this was going to happen to me. I was already feeling the effects: my pulse rate had increased significantly and my emotions were becoming increasingly uncontrollable.

“He tried to reassure me that it might not happen but I told him it had already started, and that it was too late to prevent it.“

“Did Captain Archer say anything else?” asked S’Hella.

“He replied that we were going to take the scans back to Doctor Phlox and determine what was going on, but first we needed to get the bulkheads open. After a moment I remembered that there was an auxiliary control room on the Engineering deck.”

“And what happened after the conversation with Captain Archer?”

T’Pol took a sip of water from the glass in front of her. “We made our way down to the Engineering deck, using the crawlways so as to evade the hostile crew as much as possible. My physical and mental performance was becoming somewhat affected and Corporal Hawkins attempted to offer me assistance, which I did not need.

“When we eventually emerged onto the deck above Engineering I was forced to rest while Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed dealt with two hostiles who were preventing our access to the control room. Corporal Hawkins gave me a drink of water and asked me why Vulcans, fabled for supposedly ‘not having’ emotions, were now so violent. I informed him that once upon a time Vulcans were an extremely violent race, and that so far from not having emotions, we simply keep them under firm control. On this occasion, something had apparently caused the crew of the _Seleya_ to lose that control.

“As soon as the way was clear, the captain called the two of us forward and we were able to enter the control room via a ceiling hatch, accompanied by Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Hawkins. The captain immediately ordered the door secured so we would be able to work undisturbed.”

“What happened after you entered the control room? S’Hella asked.

“I discovered that the transceiver had been damaged, but there was an auxiliary transmitter. If I could get access to it we might be able to contact _Enterprise_. In the meantime, Lieutenant Reed had encrypted the door’s locking codes but was unable to guarantee that would deny entry indefinitely if those outside were determined to get in – which would most probably be the case.

"I gave orders to Lieutenant Reed to realign the actuator circuits to allow us control of the bulkheads while I worked to access the transmitter. 

“This allowed us to contact _Enterprise_ , but it transpired that Shuttlepod Two had sustained damage in the asteroid field while they were attempting to harvest trellium ore, and it would be some two hours before it would be fit to mount a rescue mission to retrieve us. The captain transmitted the biodata we had amassed and ordered Doctor Phlox to begin analyzing it in the effort to see if there was anything that could be done to help the _Seleya_ ’s crew. In the meantime, it was obviously imperative for the second shuttle to be brought up to readiness with all speed.

"By this time I had rerouted the bulkhead controls through the auxiliary grid. If the actuator circuits had been realigned, it would be a simple matter to reopen the bulkheads and lock them in position, clearing our way to the shuttlepod.

“When I attempted to access the controls alongside the actuator circuits I received an electric shock, which would not have happened if they had been realigned correctly. Lieutenant Reed had clearly made a mistake in the sequencing, and at the time it appeared more than likely that he had done so deliberately. But whether or not this was the case, the error had overloaded the locking mechanism and there was now no way at all to reopen the bulkheads from this station.

“Captain Archer stated that we would simply have to try something else, but my emotional control was by now becoming severely compromised. I accused him of deliberately keeping me from watching to make sure the lieutenant performed his work correctly, and then of analyzing the Xindi star charts in the Command Centre behind my back in the attempt to undermine my work.

“While the captain attempted to reason with me, Lieutenant Reed suggested that if we overloaded the power grid it would disrupt the systems all over the ship. This would include the bulkhead locking mechanisms, but I immediately realized it would also quite possibly shut down the anti-matter containment, causing a breach in the warp reactor.”

“What occurred next?” Counsel asked.

She swallowed. “The captain said that he did not think we had much of a choice, and by that time I was convinced his intentions were hostile and motivated by revenge. I drew my phase pistol, which Lieutenant Reed realized was set to kill, and threatened to shoot the captain with it in self-defense. I told him that I knew he was lying, and that he wanted to kill all the crew.

“At that point I was distracted by someone striking the door, and he took advantage of my distraction to disarm me.

“He reestablished communications with _Enterprise_ , speaking to Doctor Phlox, who said that he could treat me but needed to do so as soon as possible. However, he claimed it was too late for the others, who had been exposed for too long and were now irreversibly damaged.

“I perceived that this was a lie. Just like the captain, the doctor intended their deaths,” T’Pol stated baldly.

“Were communications lost?” asked S’Hella.

“Yes. At this point communications were lost, probably due to the actions of others of the Vulcan crew outside – we could hear them hammering on the door. At the same time, Corporal Hawkins reported that the compartment was being flooded with hexafluorine gas, which is highly toxic. It was impossible to shut off the gas, as the environmental controls had been bypassed.

“Captain Archer asked Lieutenant Reed how long we would have after the overload was initiated. He was told fifteen minutes, maybe less. In response to my protests, he said that Phlox had said that the _Seleya_ ’s crew could not be saved, but I could.

“I was outnumbered and my mental and physical co-ordination was now poor. I could not prevent Lieutenant Reed from initiating the overload, which he performed readily and without error. Captain Archer helped Corporal Hawkins back up through the ceiling hatch and I was forced to follow. As soon as his work was complete, Lieutenant Reed followed us.”

Jon spared a pang for Malcolm, listening as he was traduced as an officer who botched a rescue attempt but made sure he did the job right when it came to killing nearly a hundred and fifty people.

S’Hella spared a glance sideways at the silent, handcuffed murderer before prompting, “And what happened next?”

“The overload began its work almost immediately. Explosions started both inside and outside the hull as I was forced to accompany the others towards the docking port. I resisted as much as possible but the captain manhandled me forcibly into accompanying him.

“Shortly before reaching the docking area, however, we found our way blocked by a hole that had been blown in this and several other decks. While Corporal Hawkins stood guard over me, Lieutenant Reed and the captain found a girder that would act as a bridge across the hole and the captain tested it for stability. He tried to persuade me to accompany him but I refused, even though we were once more under attack by members of the _Seleya_ ’s crew.

“Finally I became so convinced of his ill intent that I lunged at him. He was holding his phase pistol so I can only conclude that he used it to stun me.

“I was informed afterwards that the captain carried me across the gap and that they managed to lift the bulkhead and jam it open long enough to escape and access the airlock. It apparently required assistance from Shuttlepod Two to break open the docking clamps, which were jammed, and both shuttlepods only narrowly escaped damage or even destruction as the _Seleya_ exploded. By the time I was brought back on board _Enterprise_ I was showing signs of becoming irrational and highly aggressive, but I have no memory of any of it.

“The next thing I remember is being in Sickbay, when Doctor Phlox woke me after the initial course of treatment. The captain was present, and told me that Phlox had been able to treat me and I was ‘going to be okay’, but that the _Seleya_ had been destroyed. He had had no choice in the matter.

"Doctor Phlox said that in his opinion the crew had been beyond help.”

"I have no further questions, your Honor,” S’Hella stated, his tone emotionless almost to indifference.

The judge nodded briefly. “Thank you, Counsel. Commander Hicks, do you wish to cross-examine the witness?”

Lieutenant Commander Hicks rose. “Yes, I do wish to cross-examine the witness.”

Commander Augustine made a note of something in her papers. “You may proceed, Counsel.”


	30. Chapter 29: Archer

_Cross-examination._

Jon found himself tensing on T’Pol’s behalf; this might be necessary to save him and Malcolm from this bullshit multiple murder accusation, but he already knew it was going to get ugly. The part of him that hurt like hell from what he couldn’t help but perceive as her betrayal sneered _serves her right_ , but especially after the doubts that Trip had put into his mind as to whether she was doing this of her own free will at all, he still couldn’t stop himself from seeing her as his XO, and deserving of his protection.

Hicks opened calmly.

The first few questions were standard enough, probably meant to set the scene and clarify the exact nature of the distress call _Enterprise_ had received. They were so composedly non-accusatory that it could almost have been missed when the significance of them went up a notch.

“You identified the ship as the _Seleya_ by its frequency, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Would it be a true statement to say once you identified the ship as the _Seleya_ , you knew the class of ship, the crew complement, the weapon systems on board, its speed, its maneuverability, the capability of its defensive suite, and its control systems on board, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact you had served on the _Seleya_ as a Deputy Science Officer for over a year, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“At this point in time you failed to brief Captain Archer that you had served on the _Seleya_ , is that correct?” pursued the attorney, his voice still mild.

“Yes.”

“At this point in time you also failed to brief Captain Archer of the class of ship it was, the crew complement, warp drive systems, the weapon systems on board, its speed, its maneuverability, the capability of its defensive suite, its control systems on board, the layout of the ship or any other information regarding the ship, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“At this point in time you failed to brief this information to Captain Archer _because it was classified by the Vulcan government_ , is that correct?”

Up until this point she had answered in a passive resignation. Now, however, the promptitude of her response said she saw where this was headed and wasn’t going to be merely a lamb led unresistingly to the slaughter. “Not entirely. The information did not seem pertinent at this moment in time.”

The attorney turned to the judge. “Objection, non-responsive. Motion to strike the answer.”

The judge nodded, glancing at her sharply. “Objection sustained. The motion is granted and the response is stricken from the record. Ms. T’Pol, please listen to the question asked, and only answer the question asked. Your counsel will have the opportunity on re-direct to ask questions he feels necessary.” 

With a nod of his own, Hicks turned back to T’Pol. “Again, Ma’am, at this point in time you failed to brief this information to Captain Archer because it was classified by the Vulcan government, is that correct?”

Listening, Jon tensed even further. There were so many things she’d kept hidden. This was one of them he’d stopped considering – that her loyalties to the High Command, even now, could have been more important to her than her loyalty to him as her commanding officer. He knew what she was going to say, but it still hurt when she did.

“Yes.”

“In fact, you didn’t brief Captain Archer of this information until you were all on the shuttlepod going on the rescue mission to the _Seleya_ , is that correct?”

“Yes.”

That point satisfactorily illustrated, Hicks turned to the way the _Enterprise_ ’s captain had essentially gone out on a limb to retain her services when she was no longer in the services of the High Command, a position that was the result of her refusal to return to Vulcan as instructed.

“In fact Captain Archer permitted you to remain as his Executive Officer and Science Officer, even though you had resigned your commission with the Vulcan High Command, and you had not been commissioned by Starfleet, is that correct?” he continued.

“Yes.”

“So, despite Captain Archer extending this privilege and trust in you to continue to serve with him and the crew of _Enterprise_ on this, what some would say a ‘Suicidal Mission,’ you failed to mention anything about the _Seleya_ at this meeting, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

A slight pause, to let the significance of that failure sink in. Then he moved smoothly onwards through the circumstances surrounding the approach to the _Seleya_. Until,

“Lieutenant Reed, Enterprise’s Chief Security Officer, was ordered to be part of the rescue team, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You did not brief Lieutenant Reed with any information regarding the class of ship you would be boarding, the crew compliment, the weapon systems on board, its speed, its maneuverability, the capability of its defensive suite, its control systems on board, the layout of the ship or any other information regarding the ship, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So Lieutenant Reed had no more information about the _Seleya_ than Captain Archer, which was none, is that correct?”

“As I stated previously, up till this time it had not been pertinent. When it became clear that a boarding party was to visit the _Seleya_ the urgency of the issue did not allow time for detailed briefings. As a member of the boarding party I would have been available to supply any information that was required as it became relevant.”

Hicks wasn’t having that either. He turned to the judge. “Objection. Non-responsive. Motion to strike the answer.”

Commander Augustine laid down her stylus with an audible snap. “The objection is sustained as non-responsive. The motion is granted and the answer is stricken from the record. Ms. T’Pol, listen to the question asked, and answer the question asked. Your attorney will have the opportunity to clarify any of your answers on re-direct.”

“Ma’am, so Lieutenant Reed had no more information about the _Seleya_ than Captain Archer, which was none, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

The attorney drove the nail even deeper. “Though a MACO, Corporal Hawkins, was added to the team as security, the Corporal had the same information about the _Seleya_ that Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed had, which was none, is that correct?

“Yes.”

“And you failed to provide this information because it was classified by the Vulcan High Command, is that correct?”

“My response is the same as it was in regards to Lieutenant Reed. I did not provide the information because I deemed it unnecessary to do so at the time.”

“Objection. Non-responsive. Motion to strike the answer from the record.”

“Sustained. Motion granted, the answer is stricken.” The reply came with a second, even sharper look at the witness and a note made among her papers.

The attempts at a struggle were achieving nothing. The attorney was as imperturbable as he was inexorable. “Ms. T’Pol, you failed to provide this information because it was classified by the Vulcan High Command, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And, again you failed to brief Captain Archer before boarding the shuttlepod on the class of ship it was, the crew compliment, the weapon systems on board, its speed, its maneuverability, the capability of its defensive suite, its control systems on board, the layout of the ship or any other information regarding the ship, or any other information that might be useful to a rescue mission, is that correct?”

“At least some of that information would have been irrelevant and I gave him everything he needed to know when it became relevant.”

“Objection. Non-responsive. Motion to strike.”

The judge had been frowning ever since the attempt at resistance began, and by now she was scowling ominously. “The motion is granted and the answer is stricken. Ms. T’Pol, this is the last time I’m going to admonish you. Answer only the question asked. If it asks for a yes or no answer, answer it that way.

“I realize you’re not a native speaker. If you do not understand a question, say so, and if I think it needs to be rephrased, I’ll ask counsel to rephrase it. Do you understand what I’ve explained to you, Ma’am?”

T’Pol inclined her head, her face impassive. “Yes, your Honour.”

Patiently the attorney repeated the question. “And, again you failed to brief Captain Archer before boarding the shuttlepod on the class of ship it was, the crew compliment, the weapon systems on board, its speed, its maneuverability, the capability of its defensive suite, its control systems on board, the layout of the ship or any other information regarding the ship, or any other information that might be useful to a rescue mission, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you were no longer a member of the High Command at this time, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Though she added, with a slight lift of the head, “But though I was still bound to respect the confidential nature of much of the information I had been made privy to through my service to the High Command, I would not have withheld anything I deemed to be of use to Captain Archer.”

Jon caught his breath. What the hell was she _doing?_

The attorney’s response was immediate. “Objection. Non-responsive. Motion to strike the answer after ‘Yes’.”

Commander Augustine was clearly livid by now. “Granted, everything after ‘Yes’ is stricken. Ma’am, did you bring a tooth brush with you?

“No, your Honour.”

“That’s alright, the brig will supply you with one. I’m holding you in contempt of court. I have admonished you three times to answer the question responsively, and three times you have indicated you understood what I told you. The only conclusion I can make, is that you are intentionally violating my order.

“Bailiff, please take Ms. T’Pol into custody. Ma’am, the keys to the brig are in your mouth. If you assure me that you will answer the questions asked, then I will forgo the brig for you. But if you can’t do that, you will have plenty of time to contemplate what I’ve said to you.

“Do you understand what I’ve told you?”

“Yes, your Honour.”

“Will you comply with my order?”

“Yes, your Honour.” 

“Good, but you’re on notice, one more failure to answer the questions as asked, you will be in the brig. Understood?”

“Yes, your Honour.”

The judge subsided into glowering attention again.

Commander Hicks resumed. “It wasn’t until you, Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed, and Corporal Hawkins were aboard the shuttlepod heading to the _Seleya_ , that Captain Archer ask you to brief him on the details of the ship, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“The _Seleya_ , compared to _Enterprise_ , was a vastly superior ship in technology, with advanced warp drive engines, advanced weaponry, advanced shielding, advanced electronics, advanced flight controls, advanced sensors, and advanced materials used in its construction, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“All of that advanced technology I listed was classified by your government, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“During your brief to Captain Archer you failed again to brief him on the class of ship it was, the nature of all the advanced technology he would encounter onboard the ship, the crew compliment, the weapon systems on board, its speed, its maneuverability, its warp capabilities, the capability of its defensive suite, its control systems on board, the layout of the ship or any other information regarding the ship that might be useful in a rescue mission, is that correct?”

“Yes. Though once again, I submit that at least some of that information was irrelevant and the rest I was in a position to supply when it was required.”

“Objection. Non-responsive. Motion to strike.”

The judge slammed the flat of her hand against the desk. “Sustained. Ma’am, I warned you and you said you would comply. Bailiff, take her into custody. Ma’am, when you’re ready to comply with my orders, and you say you _will_ comply with them, that will be the key to get out of the brig.”

Jon watched in incredulous horror as his XO was handcuffed by the court bailiff and additional security summoned to escort her from the room. He tried vainly to catch her eye, though what that could possibly have achieved he didn’t know; what the hell did she think she was _doing?_

Hicks shook his head and sat down as the judge stalked back to chambers. “What _that_ was all about,” he murmured to Malcolm. 

“So what happens now?” Jon asked his own attorney.

Sinclair shrugged. “The court’s in recess. We wait. You can sit in the audience area if you wish, Captain, but please don’t speak to anyone about the case.”

 _How long_ , was the next question, but it appeared only one person had the answer to that; and as the prosecutors rustled in consternation after the judge, presumably to clarify exactly what was required in order to get the hearing moving again, nobody else seemed to have much of an idea what to do. It appeared that until the witness agreed to follow the judge’s orders to reply without adding any qualification of her own, she could be held indefinitely.

Exactly how long ‘indefinitely’ might be, was a question Jon preferred not to contemplate. _Enterprise_ ’s repairs were nearing completion and he wanted to get this damned hearing over and done with, the accusations shown for the nonsense they were, and get back to his ship, preferably to take her out as soon as possible into Space where at least the problems weren’t bogged down in the morass of legal procedures. There were certainly a dismaying amount of interplanetary politics to deal with, but at least there he was pretty well able to make up his own rules as long as they were perceived by all parties to be fair and just; and, so far at least, he seemed to have done a decent enough job of it considering he’d never set out to be a diplomat, just an explorer.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he heard Commander Hicks say quietly. “For the duration of the recess you’ll have to be taken to the brig. As soon as the witness purges her contempt they’ll bring you back up.” Malcolm’s guard was waiting at the back of the courtroom, and the attorney gestured him to collect the prisoner.

Jon had leaned forward and helped himself to a glass of water, but at this he instinctively glanced sideways to see how Malcolm was reacting; not that he expected to glean much from a face that was chiseled into impassivity. The Brit’s gaze was fixed on a point near the top of one of the windows, and following it Jon saw a butterfly, trapped behind the glass. It looked as if it was stuck in an empty spider’s web, because it was just fluttering there piteously, unable to move.

And there it would stay, until it died.


	31. Chapter 30: Tucker

Sonofa _bitch._

Okay. He already knew that the law took its own sweet time about everything. He knew that the hearing would probably go on for three-four days, and in the meantime there was nothing much he could do except wait.

It would have been better if he’d been allowed to speak to the other two poor bastards sharing the same fate. The benches in the corridor outside the courtroom were comfortable enough, but all three of the witnesses for the defense were sitting at a distance from each other, mostly to reassure the watching clerk at the desk opposite that nobody was going to try to break the court’s order by whispering.

Nobody was likely to whisper to the fourth witness, who was Vulcan, and presumably appearing for the defense. Not that he looked like the type to whisper back if anyone had; he settled himself in a corner and shut his eyes, and never moved a muscle except occasionally to take a sip of water from the glass in front of him.

But waiting was something Trip had never been good at. And despite the fact that he’d brought along a copy of a whodunit Anna Hess had recommended to him, he was just too worried to pin his mind down to being suspicious of every passenger aboard the _Orion Express_ , one of whom would shortly meet an unpleasant end so the detective Hilus Plormot could track down the murderer and astonish everyone in the last chapter.

No electronic devices were allowed. Not even a PADD where he could have studied the blueprints for the upgrades _Enterprise_ was getting.

Phlox was reading through some printed material from the folder he’d brought along, pursing his lips thoughtfully every now and then. It was still completely amazing how he’d just turned up as calm and breezy as ever, as if he hadn’t vanished from a murder scene on Jupiter Station and been missing ever since. Without doubt there would be some fallout from that – the Shore Police were already anxious to interview him, but had to wait their turn. Wherever he’d been in the meantime, he’d sure climbed into a hole and pulled it in after him.

The other woman, Doctor Holly Langford, Trip was sure he’d never seen before he’d been introduced to her in Commander Hicks’ office. He’d already known from the conversation with Jon that she was here as a specialist in the effects of stress, but that was all. If he hadn’t heard her thank someone who held the elevator as they arrived, he wouldn’t even have known she was English.

Holly… Malcolm had a friend called Holly. He’d always been extremely reticent about her, but Trip knew he wrote to her now and again. And he’d said vaguely at the end of their one phone conversation since returning to Earth that he planned to spend his shore leave ‘visiting a friend’.

Coincidence? Naw. More like ‘Nice putting a face to a name at last’, and quite a pretty face it was, too. _Malcolm, you sly dog. How long has_ this _been going on?_

Well, yeah. That was making a battleship out of a few nuts and bolts. But nevertheless Trip studied her as she stood staring out of the window. 

He wouldn’t readily have put her down as Malcolm’s type; she looked very demure, though definitely not lacking in self-assurance. But she was as neat as a pin in her formal gray jacket and skirt, with a white rosebud in the lapel. Her dark blonde hair was brushed back into some kind of a plait down the back of her head, and there were little white roses in her ears.

Malcolm had a meditation cushion with a white rose on it.

Even more interesting…

But at that point she sighed and turned away from the window, and he hurriedly turned his gaze away; it wasn’t gentlemanly to be caught staring.

The comm link on the wall opposite him was malfunctioning. One of the buttons was flashing intermittently, and it was irritating. If he’d had his tools with him he’d have gotten up and gone and repaired it. Didn’t the maintenance team around here do their jobs properly?

Doctor Langford sat down and picked up the book she’d been reading; he couldn’t see the title, but the cover was black and orange. Looked like some kind of romance thing.

He sighed, picked up _Murder on the Orion Express_ and started to read.

At the edge of his vision, the button continued to flash.

Intermittently.

Or not intermittently.

For a while he just tried to ignore it.

Then it got so irritating he lowered the book and glared at it.

Dot. Dot. Dot. Dash. Dash. Dash. Dot. Dot. Dot.

_S.O.S._

_Sonofabitch._

He cast a wary glance around. His two fellow-witnesses were absorbed in their reading; the clerk at the desk was making notes on a PADD.

He picked the book up again and pretended to read, but at a level that allowed him to watch the comm panel over the top of it. 

Almost at once the flashing changed. Whoever was transmitting must have access to a video link somewhere that told them he was watching.

He was out of practice with Morse. Some of the letters he didn’t know or just had to make a guess at. But after a few minutes he’d managed to work out what the message was. He turned over the page of the book and nodded, like he’d just decided who the most likely suspect was. Actually, so far his money was on Lieutenant Keller, who sounded vaguely familiar for some reason.

The flashing stopped.

_‘T’Les has gone into hiding with the Resistance.’_

His heart was thudding. T’Les’s welfare was the lever which had been used to force her daughter into that damned marriage with the ‘betrothed’ whom she’d repudiated months ago, preferring to stay aboard _Enterprise_ where she belonged. And he’d suspected all along, ever since he’d heard she was acting for the prosecution against Jon and Malcolm, that the same leverage was being applied – blackmail was the gift that just kept on giving.

But if T’Les had fled of her own accord, that meant the lever was useless. It might be too late to save T’Pol from the marriage (hell, didn’t Vulcans do divorce?) but he could sure as hell save her from the damned travesty she was going through in there.

For a moment he envisaged himself bursting into the courtroom and shouting that her mother was safe, that she didn’t have to go through with this anymore. Fortunately, wiser second thoughts suggested that there were probably laws against that sort of thing, especially when you were a witness for the defense and she was a witness for the prosecution. Reasons notwithstanding, that was _interfering with a witness_ , and probably something like a felony.

Unless he wanted to join Jon and Malcolm at counsel’s table as a co-defendant…

But he had to tell her. He had to get the information to her, _somehow!_

He put the book down and shut his eyes. Let the memories he’d been holding back flood into him, and felt the heat and joy of them even while he braced himself for the raw agony.

The Fire Plains on Vulcan. An awe-inspiring place, brooded over by those magnificent statues of thinkers whom the civilization held in reverence. He’d been so happy she’d brought him here. Except when her mother was present (there always seemed to be slightly barbed comments coming from that direction) she was so relaxed back here on Vulcan, more … more _approachable_ than she’d ever seemed before. And now, free from T’Les’s slightly acerbic presence, he felt far more relaxed too; able to just sit back and marvel at the scenery.

 _Together_. He’d never felt so close to her. He’d wanted to reach out and take her by the hand, but ridiculously, he felt shy about trying. She seemed tense, though; maybe she was wondering where this … this _thing_ was going. Whatever it was. Because she’d brought him to Vulcan and introduced him to her mama, and – and surely that meant _something?_

Well, yes, they’d shared a bed once. The memories of that still haunted his dreams. But it wasn’t just her body he wanted, though his still craved the touch of hers, the feel and taste of her smooth, slightly olive-toned skin. He felt as though she was not merely his opposite, but his completion. The Yin to his Yang – that was probably the sort of concept Vulcans went in for big time.

He’d never believed in that reincarnation stuff. You were born, you lived, you died, and that was the end of it. But the way he felt about her now, it felt like – like they’d known each other in some previous existence and were meant to find each other in this one. It had just taken them a while to recognize each other again; and now they had, and they were together at last, he’d never let her go…

_Together – together…_

_The remembered shimmering-hot vista, merging into cool white, without limits, without walls…_

_She was there, sitting cross-legged on whatever was functioning as the floor. Her face was gaunt with strain and exhaustion as it lifted to stare at him. “What are you doing here?”_

_“T’Les!” he shouted at her at the top of his lungs. “Your mom – she’s safe! She’s gone to join the Syrrannites!” It was a dream, but perhaps if he shouted loud enough–_

_The whiteness absorbed the sound like cotton wool. She looked at him blankly._

_“The Syrranites!” he bellowed. “She’s safe! You don’t have to lie anymore!”_

“Sir, are you okay?”

He opened his eyes and stared up into the worried face of the clerk. A few paces away he became aware of Phlox, standing ready to intervene if necessary; whatever the Denobulan version of the Hippocratic Oath might be, it meant more to the doc than any injunction placed on him by a court of law.

“I – what?”

“I think you fell asleep for a couple of minutes, sir. It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

Trip blinked. He was in a corridor outside a courtroom, and there was neither fiery heat nor cool, insubstantial whiteness. “No, I – I’m fine. Thank you. I must have just nodded off there for a minute.”

Relieved, the clerk retreated to fetch him a glass of water anyway. Phlox didn’t speak, but stayed where he was until Trip had drunk the water, his blue eyes very piercing under the bushy eyebrows.

 _Yeah, I’m good. Thanks._ He couldn’t say anything, but he put it into the nod as he handed back the glass. And finally, as the clerk returned to his desk, the doctor retreated to his papers, though he sent a final assessing stare before he picked them up again.

Trip sat back, his heart thudding. A nightmare – but it had felt so _real_ …

At that moment the door into the courtroom opened and everyone jumped. The first session had been expected to last for a couple of hours at least; and nothing like that had passed.

T’Pol was brought out, handcuffed (what the _hell?_ ) and escorted by a guard, who shepherded her away down the corridor.

The prisoner was the next to appear: Malcolm, again hooded to preserve his anonymity. They’d seen him being brought up like that as the hearing was about to begin, and Doctor Langford had given what sounded like a small, soft moan of sympathy.

He was led away down the corridor, and a couple of moments later the door opened again and the two defense attorneys emerged.

Before he even knew he was moving, Trip was on his feet. “Commanders, can you give me a word of advice?” he asked hoarsely.

They glanced at him and nodded, and took him away to what was apparently Counsel’s office down the corridor: a modest room that would probably have been more accommodating if it hadn’t been lined with bookcases (real old books, lined with leather, the gilt lettering on their spines rubbed into near-illegibility) and filing cases containing stacks of meticulously-indexed computer chips.

There was just about enough space for the table in the middle of the room, which bore a computer terminal and a couple of monitors, and the four seats around it.

“Please, sir, take a seat.” Commander Sinclair nodded to one of these. “Would you care for some fruit juice?” A couple of carafes jostled for space on one of the shelves, and there was a small stack of clean glasses beside them.

He didn’t really need anything to drink, but maybe the sharpness would steady him. He accepted an orange juice and was grateful to see his hand was steady enough as he took it.

“Now, how can we help you?”

He looked at the glass. “You’re goin’ to think I’m crazy.”

“Possibly, but let us decide that,” Commander Hicks said with a faint, dry smile.

Trip swallowed. He wanted to ask what the hell was going on, why T’Pol had been escorted out of the courtroom in handcuffs, but he was quite sure that even if he did they wouldn’t be allowed to tell him. Instead, “T’Pol’s bein’ blackmailed to give evidence against the Cap’n and Lieutenant Reed.”

Their attention sharpened immediately.

“You have proof?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then what makes you think so?”

“She’d already been coerced on Vulcan into doin’ something she didn’t want to do. Her Mom had to resign from her position because of the fallout from _Enterprise_ uncoverin’ a Vulcan listening station underneath a monastery at P’Jem. T’Pol found out her – her ex-fiancé’s family had influence – they could get her mom reinstated if she married him.”

Both of the attorneys would already know something of this; he’d had to talk to Major Guy about his visit to Vulcan and attending T’Pol’s wedding. He’d skimmed over the details, saying that pressure had been put on her to conform to tradition and marry her fiancé, but he’d shied away from the word _blackmail._

“But she went ahead with the wedding,” Sinclair said slowly. “So why do you think she’s being coerced a second time?”

“Because that guy – the one who spoke to me by the harbor – he _knew_ something was wrong. He _knew_ she was in trouble. And then she told Hoshi not to contact her again. Why would she do that, if she wasn’t under surveillance?

“An’ testifyin’ against Jon and Malcolm. There’s no _way_ she would do that if she wasn’t bein’ forced to.” He hesitated again, and took a gulp of the orange juice. “There’s one more thing I have to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“I just got sent a message to say her Mom has joined the rebellion on Vulcan. She’s safe from the authorities, at least unless she gets captured. T’Pol’s off the hook.”

Hicks’ eyes had narrowed. “You got a message? _Here?_ ”

Trip offered him a crooked grin. “Would you believe, a light on the comm panel out there, flashin’ in Morse Code?” He saw the look they exchanged, and snorted a bitter laugh. “I said you’d say I was crazy.”

“I think there’s going to have to be a lot of questions asked about all this afterwards,” Sinclair said at length. “But as for how this changes things now, I don’t think it does.”

“Can’t you guys give me some advice on what to do? Can’t we – can’t we tell the judge or something? T’Pol’s been forced to testify! That’s gotta be a crime!”

“Sir, it is under state law, but we’re dealing with a military Court Martial here, where state law has no jurisdiction.” Hicks paused before continuing with a steady stare: “It’s our opinion, and belief, the court will not recommend Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed be referred to a General Court Martial. We can’t guarantee an outcome, but we believe the law and facts support that outcome. We’ve submitted briefs on the law and its application to what we believe the facts to be, and what Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed faced. Neither myself nor Commander Sinclair can give you advice, as you’re a witness. It would violate the rules of professional responsibility and the UCMJ. But, we believe we have a good defense. That’s all we can tell you, sir. If you have questions, you need to go to the JAG office. They have attorneys who can give you advice, but we can’t.”

Trip looked from one to the other of them, frowning. “So – what you’re sayin’ is I should just play along?”

“That would have to be your decision, sir. As my learned colleague just told you, we’re absolutely forbidden to give advice.” Sinclair suddenly smiled deep in his beard. “‘Political asylum’. I think you can figure that out, Commander Tucker.”

Well, even if it wasn’t advice, it sure as hell constituted something Trip could organize when this was all over. A word in the right ear – preferably one with Admiral Forrest attached to it – would definitely be worth having.

Finding that his hand was suddenly shaking after all, he lifted the glass. “To ‘not givin’ advice’,” he said, and drained it.


	32. Chapter 31: T'Pol

_RAGE!_

The _Teraya-eingelsu_ language she had been taught was entirely insufficient to express anything like what she felt. As the doors of the holding room closed behind her, she looked about for anything she could kick or punch. Anything, for preference, that she could break.

It was probably inevitable that there was nothing. She roamed around the room, occasionally spitting epithets in Vulcan beneath her breath that her mother would have deplored her even knowing.

Corporal Hawkins, like most Humans, had been prey to the delusion that Vulcans felt no emotions. The truth was precisely the opposite. Vulcans experienced emotions of a power and depth it was unlikely Humans ever got anywhere near, which was why it was so absolutely imperative that they employ meditation to enable them to keep control of them.

This control had not always been something they practiced. Before the time of the Awakening, the clans had survived a life of violence and chaos, driven by the forces they could not control. Surak had changed all that, imposed order and calm, and ever since then the wild beasts within had been kept caged. When they were released, the hapless crews of first the _Vaankara_ and then the _Seleya_ had borne witness to what happened.

The evening before, T’Pol had tried to meditate in order to prepare herself for what she knew was going to be one of the hardest days of her life – almost as hard as the one where she had dropped a fleeting, farewell kiss on the dreams of a life she might have had. But she had not been successful. Too many thoughts had intruded, the turmoil of a state where it was still possible – right up till the last moment, it was still possible – that she could change her mind.

As a result, when the hearing began she was already feeling unbalanced. The sight of Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed had jolted her; despite his attempt at calm, she could perceive without a shadow of a doubt that Archer was hurt and bewildered by her treachery. For that was what it was, regardless of the necessity. He had trusted her absolutely and she was betraying him. 

Reed was, as always, harder to read. But he was Human, he had to feel _something_ , and whatever it was he hid behind that glacial stare, it was not happy.

 _Betrayal._ She had betrayed Commander Tucker; she had betrayed Jonathan Archer; she had betrayed Lieutenant Reed. She had had no choice, but that did not mean it would come as less than a blow to any of them. And now, finally, it was being borne in upon her fully just how heinous her behavior would appear to them all, and how much she had valued their comradeship and trust.

That was why she had decided to disobey the High Command and stay aboard _Enterprise_ when the ship went in search of the Xindi. That unique relationship had meant so much to her that she was willing to risk not just her career but her life to remain where she had finally found a home. And now she was destroying it all, and herself in the process – and as far as anyone could see, for nothing.

She leaned her head against the wall, her shoulders drooping. “ _Ni’droi’ik nar-tor_ ,” she whispered in anguish. _I am sorry._

“Child. This behavior is achieving nothing.” The door behind her had opened, and the prosecutors had come in. It was V’Rei who had spoken, his expression sadly reproachful.

It would have been more convincing if she had not known that both he and S’Hella were known adherents of Administrator V’Las, whose claws hovered above her mother. For powerful as Koss’s family undoubtedly were, it was their allegiance to the High Command that bolstered them in their position, and it had been the knowledge of the High Command’s support that had emboldened them to blackmail her into marrying Koss.

Swinging away from the wall, she faced them both, fists clenched within her robes. “I can achieve nothing out there,” she said icily. “The captain did nothing wrong aboard the _Seleya_! I know it, you know it, even V’Las himself knows it! This is a farce!”

S’Hella folded his arms. “The families of the dead are entitled to know that everything was done to extract the truth,” he said piously.

“The truth!” she snarled. “Starfleet knows the truth. Everyone knows the truth! Persisting in these lies will achieve nothing but–” She stopped dead. _Nothing but endangering the alliance._

Nonsense. What would V’Las have to gain by endangering the alliance with Starfleet? Even the High Council had uttered grudging words of thanks for _Enterprise_ ’s achievements in averting the threat that would have proven graver by far than any weapon aimed at an individual world. Now the peace that the captain had made the first strides in brokering between Vulcan and Andoria was opening up vistas of prosperity and calm that would have been unthinkable three years ago. And from this small beginning it was not hard to imagine the start of a wider alliance; Tellar for one was grudgingly willing to listen to any proposal Jonathan Archer might have a hand in making. What could possibly compensate for separating themselves from such burgeoning opportunities? Strength lay in solidarity.

“You have already agreed to testify,” S’Hella said coldly. “These antics are unworthy of your new clan and bring contempt on Vulcan. And I remind you exactly why you are here.”

No. There was the shackle, a harder and colder one than the handcuffs around her wrists. Her mother’s safety depended on her.

She slumped against the wall again. “I must have time to meditate,” she said. “Give me half an hour.”

“And then you will cooperate?” demanded V’Rei.

“What choice do I have?” she asked wearily.

“None.” S’Hella looked down his nose at her. “And it is time you realized that.”

And without another word, the two of them turned and swept from the room.


	33. Chapter 32: Archer

“In the matter of United Earth vs. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed and Captain Jonathan Archer, Case number 54F18427. The Court has reconvened. Let the record reflect that the witness T’Pol is present, as is counsel for the prosecution and defense.”

Having made that announcement, the judge fixed a basilisk stare on the slight figure on the witness stand. “Ms. T’Pol, it is my understanding from speaking with Counsel S’Hella, you have decided to comply with the Court’s admonition, and will answer all questions, subject to objection by either counsel, is that correct?”

The Vulcan met her gaze calmly. “Yes, your Honor.”

“Ma’am, I’ll remind you that you’re still under oath. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, your Honor.” 

From across the courtroom, Jon looked at her intently. There was nothing different in her looks, nothing he could put his finger on; if asked, he couldn’t even have said what made him look at her so hard. But still, he thought there was something…

“Lieutenant Commander Hicks, you may resume your questioning.”

“Thank you, your Honor.” He looked at his papers and began again, his voice still perfectly patient.

The first few questions just seemed to go over the facts from earlier on, that she’d kept a whole load of relevant information to herself because it was classified and the High Command would rather it be kept secret than revealed to help a rescue attempt. Then it was established that even when the captain had possession of what facts she’d chosen to reveal, he’d still ordered it to be a rescue operation.

The scans they’d taken on arrival had told them something, but not much.

“So it would be correct to say, that when Captain Archer, you, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Hawkins entered the _Seleya_ , you had no knowledge of the conditions inside the ship, nor the conditions of the crew, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Jon found his palms were damp. Even now the memories were harrowing: the ill-lit, badly damaged corridors, the report of blood. _Vulcan_ blood. The growing conviction that something here was terribly, dreadfully _wrong_ – and, gnawing at the back of his mind, the ghastly video of the crew of the _Vaankara_ that he’d watched back on Earth, people famed for their calm and dignity attacking one another like wild animals…

“You and Captain Archer opened the hatch together to the compartment from which the banging sound came from, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Upon opening the compartment you were immediately attacked by a Vulcan wielding a metal bar, correct?”

“Yes.”

“When this happened to you, did you believe that this Vulcan was trying to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, you shot the Vulcan crew member with your phase pistol, correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, when you shot the crew member with your phase pistol it had little or no effect on him, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, if Captain Archer had not disarmed the Vulcan crew member and stunned him, in all likelihood, you would have been killed, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So, it would be fair to say that Captain Archer saved your life from this Vulcan crewman who was trying to kill you, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

_She could at least have looked at me when she said that. I saved her goddamn life and here she is trying to get me sent to jail and drummed out of Starfleet._

_Trip says she’s being forced. Okay, maybe she is, but ... hell._

Hicks was moving on, covering the discovery of the damage to the stunned Vulcan crewman’s synaptic pathways and what the rescue party had been able to deduce from it. And, more importantly, what effect it appeared to have on the affected person.

“Captain Archer ordered that the stunned Vulcan crewman be carried back to the shuttlepod, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Based upon your two plus years of experience as the Executive Officer of the _Enterprise_ , watching Captain Archer daily in command of _Enterprise_ , and in different situations, numerous encounters with different aliens, including Vulcans, had you reached an opinion as to whether Captain Archer held such animus towards aliens and/or Vulcans that he would either intentionally, or recklessly or wantonly kill them if the situation presented itself?”

“He displayed initial resentment towards Vulcans for personal reasons but never to such a degree that he wished them actual physical harm.” 

_‘You have no idea how much I'm restraining myself from knocking you on your ass.’_ Though to be fair, Jon felt he’d shown an inordinate amount of restraint by not sending a serving plate sailing at Captain Vanik’s head at some point during that excruciating dinner. 

“Is your answer the same for Lieutenant Reed?”

“Yes.”

“Is it not a fact that from the very beginning, when the automated distress signal was intercepted from the _Seleya_ , Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed treated this mission for what it was, a rescue mission?”

“Yes.”

“The stunned _Seleya_ crewman couldn’t be returned to _Enterprise because_ of the approach of, what you considered to be, two hostile members of the _Seleya_ crew, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed it was reasonable and appropriate to stun them because they appeared, to you, to be trying to kill you, Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed, and Corporal Hawkins, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Is it not a fact that during the entire time that this rescue mission was aboard the _Seleya_ , neither you, nor Captain Archer, nor Lieutenant Reed, nor Corporal Hawkins came across any Vulcan crew members who were not trying to kill you?”

“Yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye Jon saw the prosecuting attorneys fidgeting, and guessed that this talk of crazy Vulcans must be extremely discomforting to a species who prided themselves on their mental control. 

The polite inquisition then moved on to the fact that from that point on the boarding party had been under almost constant attack by members of the _Seleya_ crew whose intentions had been openly murderous.

“In fact, at this point in time you considered the _Seleya_ crew capable of killing some or all of the members of the boarding party, correct?” asked the attorney.

“Those we had encountered up to this point were, yes. We had no evidence that the entire crew had become hostile.”

He steamrollered over this as the irrelevance it was. “In fact, at this point in time, every member of the crew of the _Seleya_ you or members of the boarding party had encountered, attacked you or the boarding party immediately upon encounter, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, at this point in time, you and the boarding party were significantly outnumbered, under constant attack, and in danger of being overrun and killed, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

It could hardly be denied. From the first attack Jon had been aware just how risky the situation might become, but by then he was beginning to wonder if they’d actually make it out of there alive.

Hawkins had, on his own initiative, changed the selector on his phase rifle to ‘kill’ because the stun setting had little or no effect on the _Seleya_ crew members. And even though the stun setting was not effective on the crew of the _Seleya_ , T’Pol had ordered that he keep his rifle on stun, even at the risk of him being killed.

Hicks’ voice hardened. “In fact, you were more concerned about not killing _Seleya_ crewmen who were trying to kill you and the boarding party, than you were about keeping the boarding party alive by ordering the crewmen be stunned, isn’t that correct?”

At the time, the captain had just thought she was hoping the situation could be resolved without resorting to killing – after all, multiple stun hits did work. But he’d suspected that Malcolm had more than half agreed with the corporal’s reasoning and action, and had his finger poised to switch the setting on his own rifle.

By this time the attorney reminded Jon of an anaconda. Millimeter by tiny, patient, murderously precise millimeter, the coils were tightening, tightening, while the prey grew slowly weaker.

The topic moved on to the discovery that their escape route back to the shuttlepod had been deliberately blocked and their situation was now even more desperate.

T’Pol’s solution had been to recommend that the team move to the bridge to use its communication equipment – a location which was seven decks away, and accessible only through an enemy of over a hundred homicidal Vulcan crew members, not including those who might have revived since being stunned.

The _Seleya_ ’s launch bay, and whatever shuttles it contained, was far closer and would have provided an easier route to escape. But it hadn’t been available because it was depressurized by damage.

A note of faint incredulity now entered the attorney’s voice. “So in, effect, you, as the only member of the team to have served on the _Seleya_ , and as the only member of the team who knew the configuration and layout of the _Seleya_ because of service on it for over a year, could not come up with any solution to this life and death situation, that didn’t required fighting potentially one hundred and forty-seven homicidal Vulcans through seven decks, to reach the bridge, is that correct?”

“Yes. The depressurization of so many decks had rendered the alternative options for escape unviable and the crew had disabled the standard deck communications systems. The comm controls were situated on the bridge, there was nowhere else from which they could be accessed.”

“Then the reality was, there were no good solutions for Captain Archer, you, Lieutenant Reed, and Corporal Hawkins, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Every solution carried with it a risk of failure, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, the only option left, and the shortest distance to move, was for the team to move through four bulkhead positions, and an unknown number of hostile Vulcans, that separated the team from the shuttlepod the team came over on, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And, though you advised it would be difficult, you didn’t object to the plan, did you?” pressed Hicks silkily.

“No. It appeared to me to present the best chance of success.”

He nodded and moved on to the subject of Corporal Hawkins, who’d sustained a serious injury to his arm in the fighting earlier – an injury so severe that the captain had decided that escape had to take a back seat while they got the MACO treated in Sickbay.

The attorney’s tone grew a shade smoother. “It was also about this time you told Captain Archer you were feeling anxiety when he told you that you didn’t look well, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, your sense of anxiety had begun once you came aboard the _Seleya_ , is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact your sense of anxiety had been increasing since you came aboard the _Seleya_ , is that correct?”

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.

“In fact, you never told your commanding officer, Captain Archer, of your increasing feeling of anxiety until he asked you, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Smoothness now acquired the first hint of accusation. “In fact you, and every member of an away team, are trained to report any unusual conditions, including how they are physically or mentally affected while on an away mission, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

It was the absolute truth. And even though she’d been trained to do so, she’d failed to say anything about her problems until well into the mission to rescue the _Seleya_ ’s crew, by which time her failing control of herself was about to contribute even more to the danger. Slowly and systematically she was forced to admit all this.

“Captain Archer was concerned about your deteriorating mental condition, is that correct?”

Another hesitation. “I believe so, yes.”

The pause on his part was clearly to let those confessions sink in. The coils were tightening again, and even despite the fact that the suffocation was being carried out in his and Malcolm’s defense, Jon found his ribs aching in sympathy.

“As time passed, your anxiety levels continued to increase to the point it was affecting your ability to think logically, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Jon glanced aside. Beyond Sinclair, Malcolm was staring at nothing, his face grim; perhaps he too was back in that nightmare aboard the _Seleya_ , where by this time the prospect of being able to rescue any of the hapless crew had been receding into non-existence and their main aim was being forced to change to saving themselves. 

The stealthy assault continued, leading the hapless victim through what had happened next: the discovery of the wretched chief engineer of the _Seleya_ , immobilized in Sickbay, who became violent when they’d attempted to communicate with him. Not one word seemed to penetrate his crazed mind or abate his struggles to free himself, undoubtedly with the intention of launching an attack on them if he managed it.

“At this point in time, you were not just feeling anxiety, you were losing control of your emotions as well, were you not?”

“Yes,” she replied, low-voiced. S’Hella made another note.

“In fact, Vulcan emotions are so volatile, you must meditate each day to keep them in control, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, Vulcan emotions are so volatile that before the time of Surak and the Awakening, Vulcan clans routinely slaughtered each other in endless wars, isn’t that correct?”

“Objection, relevance!” S’Hella rose. “This is ancient history, and bears no relation to modern-day Vulcan mentality.”

Commander Augustine frowned thoughtfully. “I’ll allow it as a legitimate line of questioning. Proceed.”

“Yes.”

“In fact, at this time you were already slipping into these pre-Surak and Pre-Awakening emotions, isn’t that correct?” 

“Yes.”

“In fact, you were becoming increasingly volatile, emotional, belligerent, aggressive, and losing your ability to reason logically and rationally, is that correct?”

She closed her eyes briefly and admitted it. After that, she could not withhold an admission that she’d told Captain Archer she was becoming like the crewmen of the _Seleya_ , or that these were ‘extremely violent, vicious, and homicidal’.

“Yes.”

He continued remorselessly. “The crew of the _Seleya_ , while you, Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Hawkins were on board, were relentless and violent in their efforts to kill all of you, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Yes; by this time she’d been losing all of her ability to think and reason logically. Jon remembered his horror when he’d realized how bad she was becoming.

Now the topic moved on to Captain Archer’s attitude towards Vulcan in general, during the design and building of the _Enterprise_ and its warp engine. She admitted to being aware before being posted aboard _Enterprise_ of his belief that Vulcans held Earth and his father back in the development of the Warp 5 engine.

Though originally she’d been temporarily assigned to _Enterprise_ and the mission to Qo’noS, Captain Archer asked her to remain on board as his Executive Officer and Science Officer. Having established that fact, Hicks asked if, during the first two years before the Expanse mission, the captain had ever treated her unfairly?

“In the beginning our relationship was slightly difficult, as he believed I had been placed on his ship in order to act as a spy for the High Command, but after that, no.”

‘ _Slightly difficult’_. Jon controlled a rueful smile. Vulcans and their talent for understatement; he’d been livid when she’d been forced on him, the Vulcan spy on his captaincy and his ship. But that said, to begin with her behavior had reinforced every preconception he’d had about her species; she’d been arrogant and condescending, far more interested in making him concede defeat than in helping him to salvage the situation when the Suliban suddenly and unexpectedly invaded his ship and kidnapped the Klingon he’d been transporting home.

“During the first two years before the Expanse mission did Captain Archer indicate to you in any way that he did not trust you?”

“After the initial difficulties I have mentioned, no.”

“During the first two years before the Expanse mission did Captain Archer ever threaten you with physical violence because you are Vulcan?”

Jon closed his eyes. _Here it comes – ‘You have no idea how much I’m restraining myself from knocking you on your ass.’_

“Captain Archer has never offered violence to any of his crew,” she said levelly.

He opened his eyes again. _Damn_ , as Trip would say.

But there again, when that had happened she hadn’t _been_ one of his crew. She’d been a member of Ambassador Soval’s staff, oozing disdain while they argued over handing over a dead Klingon or a live one.

She hadn’t had to use that distinction…

“Objection, the answer is non-responsive. Motion to strike the answer.”

The judge unleashed a warning glance. “The objection is sustained. The answer is stricken from the record. Ma’am, please listen to the question and answer it.”

“Ma’am, listen to the question carefully: During the first two years before the Expanse mission did Captain Archer ever threaten YOU with physical violence because you are Vulcan?”

“No.”

‘Because she was Vulcan’? No. Because she was being a condescending, obnoxious, patronizing little… But however much he might have threatened, he’d never have carried through, regardless of whatever species she was. He suspected she knew exactly why he’d responded to her the way he had, and that was why she’d given that answer.

Hicks was going on, asking whether, during the first two years before the Expanse mission, Captain Archer had ever threatened any Vulcans with violence or death, that _Enterprise came_ in contact with while on its mission of exploration.

There were definitely times when you lived to be thankful for _not having_ used a dinner-plate as a weaponized Frisbee when you were dining with the universe’s least gracious dinner guest, however much you’d been tempted to.

“In fact, Captain Archer told you, at this point in time on the _Seleya_ , that what was happening to the _Seleya_ crew was not going to happen to you, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So Captain Archer tried to reassure you, telling you that they would take the scans back to Dr. Phlox and he would determine what was happening to the Vulcan crew, and that they would ensure it would not happen to you, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Another pregnant pause. _This is the officer you’re up there helping to prosecute – a captain who did everything to help and reassure you, even though you were turning into a liability in a situation that was already deadly._

Then he moved on again, detailing the way that as the team was making its way to the engineering deck, her thinking, logic, and mental acuity were continuously being degraded, up till the point when her unusual demeanor and behavior had been noticed by Corporal Hawkins.

“During this time, two more violent _Seleya_ crewmen had to be dealt with by Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed were still combat effective, you, Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Hawkins would never have made it off the _Seleya_ alive, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Once again Hicks’ pause was telling. _These guys saved your life as well as their own, and here are you in the witness stand trying to get them convicted of murder._

When he resumed, it was to deal with the entry into the control room in Main Engineering, where she’d given Lieutenant Reed orders to realign the actuators so she could control the bulkheads. Reed had succeeded in encrypting the hatch’s locking mechanism but could not guarantee that the encryption would hold for an indefinite length of time.

The attorney glanced at his client and then back again, introducing a faint note of accusation as he asked whether she’d known how much experience Lieutenant Reed had had with Vulcan actuators; then, whether she’d _asked_ whether he had any; and then, whether she’d known whether or not he’d ever received any instructions on how to repair Vulcan actuators. No, she was forced to admit to each of these questions, she hadn’t. Nor had she known whether or not Lieutenant Reed had ever realigned a set of Vulcan actuators previously to boarding the _Seleya_.

“Previous to leaving _Enterprise_ to go to the _Seleya_ , did you give the boarding team a brief on Vulcan equipment, including actuators in particular, that would be found on _Seleya_?”

She swallowed. “I have already indicated there was no time for detailed briefings, even if there had been any reason to expect they would be required to handle the equipment.”

“Objection, non-responsive. Motion to strike the answer.”

“Objection sustained. The answer will be stricken from the record.”

“Previous to leaving _Enterprise_ to go to the _Seleya_ , did you give the boarding team a brief on Vulcan equipment, including actuators in particular, that would be found on _Seleya_?”

“No, but there was no time for detailed briefings, even if there had been any reason to expect they would be required to handle the equipment.”

He let that slide, and moved on to how long it had taken for _Enterprise_ to arrive at the _Seleya_ ’s location after receiving the distress call – just over two hours.

This had been more than enough time, he suggested, for her to have given the captain or Lieutenant Reed an adequate briefing on what they could expect when _Enterprise_ arrived at the _Seleya_ ’s location.

But, despite knowing it was a distress call, and what ship it was from, she hadn’t. And even when upon arrival at the _Seleya_ she’d observed that the Vulcan ship showed extensive damage to the outside of the hull, and discovered that there were decompressed decks inside, suggesting that there would be extensive damage to its interior, she _still_ hadn’t seen fit to brief any of her colleagues about what damaged equipment they might expect to find – including damaged actuators.

She stared back at him with a haggard shadow of defiance. “Yes, but I did not believe anyone would be required to use or repair it.”

“Whether or not you believed the actuators would need to be repaired, they were in the realm of equipment that might need to be repaired due to the extensive damage to the _Seleya_ , is that correct?”

“Yes.”

His brows rose, and the note of incredulity was now pronounced. “You are an experienced officer, with service in the Vulcan High Command, with additional service on the ship _Enterprise_ which was en route to provide aid because of a distress call, with hours to go before arriving, and you believed you _didn’t need_ to brief the two senior officers from _Enterprise_ who were going with you to a ship they had never been on, and that everyone believed to be damaged. You believed it _wasn’t necessary_ to brief these officers about the ship, its layout, systems that might be damaged, or any other problems they might come upon on the _Seleya_ , is that correct?”

“Yes,” she said, defeated.

Again, he moved on. Now he asked almost rhetorically whether it was true, because of her experience as a Deputy Science Officer on the _Seleya_ , that she was the only member of the boarding team with experience with Vulcan technology and equipment when the team boarded the ship.

Having received the required agreement, he continued, “Speaking as the second in command of _Enterprise_ , who would be better qualified to work on _Enterprise_ ’s systems and equipment, Lieutenant Reed or Commander Tucker?”

Jon thought he caught the faintest wavering in her hard-held composure. Her eyes dropped. “Commander Tucker.”

“Speaking as second in command of _Enterprise_ , who would be better qualified to work on Vulcan technology and equipment, Commander Tucker or Lieutenant Reed?”

“Commander Tucker,” she repeated almost soundlessly, still not raising her eyes.

“And once again speaking as second in command of _Enterprise_ , who would be better qualified to work on Vulcan technology and equipment, if Commander Tucker were not available – Lieutenant Reed or Lieutenant Hess, Commander Tucker’s second in command of Engineering?”

“Lieutenant Hess, if she had been present. But Lieutenant Reed is a qualified and competent engineer and should have been perfectly capable of carrying out my instructions.”

Hicks paused. Then, after clarifying Lieutenant Reed’s position as _Enterprise_ ’s Armory Officer, he established that the lieutenant was trained on the use and repair of _Enterprise_ ’s defensive weapon systems. And suggested – that point having been duly conceded – that though Lieutenant Reed had some experience in engineering, it was not the same knowledge, training, and experience as that of either Commander Tucker or Lieutenant Hess.

The point was inarguable. T’Pol did not try.

Hicks bored back into the attack. “When you gave Lieutenant Reed the orders to realign the bulkhead actuators, you, Lieutenant Reed, Captain Archer and Corporal Hawkins had, since boarding the _Seleya_ , had been in a constant fight for your lives due to the violent and homicidal actions of the _Seleya_ crew, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“When you gave Lieutenant Reed the order to realign the actuators, you assumed that he could do it, based solely on your verbal instructions, given while you were, unknown to him at the time, under the deleterious effect of trellium, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“When you gave Lieutenant Reed the order to realign the actuators, you were not only under the influence of the trellium, which had turned the crew of the _Seleya_ violent and homicidal, but under the stress of trying to access the transmitter, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“When you gave Lieutenant Reed the order to realign the actuators, you were losing your ability to control your emotions, think logically, and think rationally, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“It’s actually entirely possible that you gave Lieutenant Reed the wrong instructions on how to repair the actuators due to you being under the influence trellium and the damage caused to your synaptic pathways which was causing you to lose control, reverting you to more primitive and violent emotions, is that correct?”

Another flash of despairing defiance. “It’s possible, but I believe my instructions were correct.”

His voice hardened. “So even as you stand here today in this Courtroom, _you cannot testify to a moral certainty that you gave him the right instructions, while under the influence of trellium, to repair the actuators, is that correct?_ ”

There was a pause. She cast a single, hunted glance at Malcolm. “Yes.”

The attorney glanced at his documents and seemed to take another moment to let that admission sink in before continuing.

Now he began concentrating on the way that the effects of the trellium had been cumulative over time on her emotional controls. Step by step, he forced the admission that her emotional control was by then so deteriorated that she became paranoid – to the point where she’d accused both the captain and the lieutenant of conspiring against her.

Jon saw the despair in her eyes, and his own heart contracted.

Hicks leaned forward. “You were so out of control, so paranoid, on the verge of becoming violent, that you pulled a phase pistol, selector set to kill, and threatened to kill Captain Archer because you believed, due to the influence of the trellium, it would be in self-defense, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You believed that Captain Archer was going to kill you, didn’t you?” 

“Objection, no foundation!” S’Hella stood up. “This question calls for an opinion.”

The judge considered briefly. “In view of the testimony so far, I believe there is sufficient foundation to continue. Objection overruled. Continue, Counsel.”

The Prosecution attorney sat down again with an irritated rustle of robes.

Hicks went on as if there had been no interruption at all, merely repeating the question. “You believed that Captain Archer was going to kill you, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Your belief that Captain Archer wanted to kill you was wrong, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Her voice was very low.

“Your belief that Captain Archer was lying was wrong, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Your belief that Captain Archer wanted to kill the _Seleya_ crew was wrong, wasn’t it?”

For the first time she looked at Jon directly. The beautiful brown eyes were full of sadness. “Yes.”

The pained incredulity was back again as the attorney pursued that she’d been so paranoid she’d even accused Dr. Phlox, a physician who’d treated her for three years, of intending to cause the deaths of the crew of the _Seleya_. Whereas the reality had been that communication with Enterprise had been lost due to the actions of the _Seleya_ ’s crew, who were even now hammering at the hatch, and the compartment was being flooded with highly toxic hexafluorine gas which could not be turned off. As for the matter of whether the Vulcan crew could be saved, Captain Archer had been informed by Dr. Phlox, a highly respected Denobulan physician and scientist, that this was impossible.

“In fact, Dr. Phlox has treated you for three years without complaint from you as to his professionalism, competency, and knowledge of Vulcan physiology, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And, Captain Archer acted on the best advice he could receive at the time because you were under the influence of trellium, which was causing the degradation of your synaptic pathways, and which was causing you to be paranoid and violent, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, your mental and physical condition were poor, by your own testimony, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, your mental condition had deteriorated to the point that you fought Captain Archer, and the others, all the way, refusing to cooperate at every turn, as he and the team tried to leave the _Seleya_ , is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, attacks by the _Seleya_ crew continued right until you were finally able to board Shuttlepod One, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath. “Sub-Commander T’Pol, you have no memory of what happened to you after you left the _Seleya_ and returned to the _Enterprise_ , is that correct?”

She looked at him wearily. “Yes.”

“You are aware you were taken to sickbay on _Enterprise_ , though, is, that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you are aware that all medical procedures are recorded visually, with an audio competent, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Have you reviewed that video?”

“No.”

The attorney turned to face the judge.

“Your honor, I would like to play the audio/video portion of Sub-Commander T’Pol in sickbay when she first entered. The video was pre-marked by the clerk of the Court as Defense Exhibit A, for identification. Opposing counsel and both defense counsel have reviewed the video, and I believe there is no objection, either to foundation or chain of custody, by the Prosecution, is that correct, Counsel?”

Counsel for the Prosecution rose. No emotion at all could be discerned on his face, which was currently schooled into faintly reptilian impassivity. 

“Yes. No objection, your honor.”

The video screen on one wall lit up.

The action was frozen at the moment before Sickbay’s doors burst open. Next moment the action began, as the gurney was pushed forcibly between them by a disheveled and bleeding Captain Archer, trying his best to hold down the screaming, fighting woman who was lying on it.

“She’s coming to,” he panted.

“Let me go. Let me _go!”_ she shrieked. Her hands clawed for his throat, inhumanly strong; it had been all he could do to fend them off.

“Stop!”

“ _I’ll kill you!_ ”

Once again the memories came back, rending. His assurance that they weren’t going to hurt her had fallen on completely deaf ears.

She’d writhed in his grip. Her eyes, usually so clear and calm, had blazed with terrifying hatred.

“ _You liar! No! Get away from me!_ ”

Fortunately Phlox was less reluctant to face unpleasant necessity. The Denobulan had lost no time in grabbing the restraints and buckling them into place, leaving his patient to scream and struggle in vain.

“The damage is more severe than I’d expected,” he’d said somberly.

On top of the failure to rescue anyone from the _Seleya_ , the news had been crushing. “Can you reverse it?”

“I’m not sure. T’Pol…”

“What’s he doing?” The Vulcan glared, trying to dodge the hypospray.

It was pitiful to see her like this. “It’s all right.” He tried to keep his voice soothing. “He’s trying to help you.”

Her face was an insane, contorted mask of loathing. “He’s trying to kill me! You killed the others. Murderers! _Get away!_ ”

She couldn’t dodge the hypospray for long, though she’d flailed so hard he was terrified she’d hurt herself. Gently but firmly he took hold of her head to steady it, and endured her screams until the sedative finally went in and her shrieks slurred into silence.

The recording ended as the gurney with her on it was rolled into the Imaging Chamber.

For a moment there was a heavy silence in the court.

Commander Hicks broke it. “Sub-Commander T’Pol, after you had recovered, you were told by Captain Archer that your actions while on board the _Seleya_ , and the actions of the _Seleya_ ’s crew, were from the effects of the trellium on Vulcan physiology, is that correct?”

“Yes,” she answered dully.

“After hearing this, you requested that Captain Archer drop you off at the first habitable planet _Enterprise_ came to, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Captain Archer told you that he would not do that because he doesn’t leave any of his crew behind, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Everyone knew the slaughter was over. 

Finally Hicks stepped back and transferred his gaze to Commander Augustine. “Your honor, the defense would request that Exhibit A, marked for identification, be moved into evidence.”

The judge looked at Counselor S’Hella and asked, “Any objection, Counsel?”

With a sigh, “No your honor.”

“The defense motion is granted. Exhibit A is moved into evidence.” She turned her gaze back to Commander Hicks, who responded, “No further questions, your honor.”

The judge glanced at Commander Sinclair. “Do you have any further questions, Counsel?”

He rose briefly. “I have no questions, your Honor.”

“Then the witness is excused.”

Despite himself, Jon sagged with relief. He didn’t watch as T’Pol was escorted from the stand, though.

He couldn’t.


	34. Chapter 33: Tucker

_Pain._

The hearing had been recessed for the day after the cross-examination ended yesterday, and the witnesses had been called into the courtroom and ordered to present themselves for duty again the next morning at 0830. In the meantime, they still weren’t allowed to talk to one another.

The summons had given him his first glimpse of Malcolm, uncovered, since the whole damn thing began. Though he hadn’t been able to catch more than a quick glance as they all trooped out again he’d been horrified by the hurt and humiliation in the guy’s face as their eyes met – and, underlying them both, a tension that suggested a caged animal, just biding its time till something came within clawing range.

So here they were again, a little earlier than required, seated in a suitably separated row like coconuts at a fair, silent; waiting to be called in.

Phlox seemed to be the most placid of the three of them, but then in all the years they’d served together aboard _Enterprise_ he’d always had vast reserves of calm. He was sitting with hands joined comfortably across his abdomen and his eyes closed, probably composing another letter to his friend Doctor Lucas or mentally going through the complexities of his marital relations. When you had three wives, each of whom had three husbands (who presumably each had three wives of their own, and so on), the numbers of people you were related to by marriage multiplied exponentially the further you went. It was entirely probable that most of the inhabitants of Denobula were linked by marriage within a couple of generations.

If he’d been here in his capacity as a doctor rather than a medical expert, and conversation wasn’t forbidden, Trip would probably have asked him if he had anything to help combat pain and nausea. It was a working certainty that one of the pockets in that capacious gown held a hypospray even so (Phlox never went anywhere unprepared), but the rule kept him silent.

The headache was blinding, though. One of the worst he’d ever experienced. Probably the nausea was just a reaction to the pain.

But was it _his_ pain, though?

Certainly he had enough physical issues to be going on with, for he’d tossed and turned through an interminable night in the comfortable field grade quarters he and the other witnesses were assigned. At first he’d been desperate to fall asleep, hoping that somehow he might find some way to reach that weird ‘white space’ he’d experienced yesterday. When he’d failed to fall asleep – which was pretty inevitable, really, because it never happens when you’re waiting for it – he’d even gotten out of bed and sat in a chair, recreating the exact pose where he’d made it happen back in the corridor outside the courtroom. But he’d had no success either way. And sleeplessness never left him feeling good.

Being unable to get a hold of Admiral Forrest hadn’t helped any, either – even one of the ‘heroes of the Expanse’ didn’t get to have an admiral’s cellphone number. Yesterday evening he’d tried to get through to Starfleet HQ, but encountered the usual obstructions. Even when he’d finally exploded and told them to put his voice through a damn recognition program (and it had taken them a while to finally decide to do that) he hadn’t had any luck. By that time Forrest had left the building.

Jon would almost certainly have it. But now the trial was on, any attempt to communicate was almost certainly out the window. By the time the sun had finally put in an appearance this morning Trip was so glad to see it that he had thoughts only for the upcoming witness appearance. He knew that unfortunately he would be the last witness to be called, so how long he’d have to wait depended on how long everyone else took about giving _their_ evidence and being questioned on it – there was a chance it might be today but it might well not happen till tomorrow, a prospect he viewed with part resignation and part dismay. Of course it wasn’t going to be pleasant and he wanted the whole goddamn business over and done with, but most of all, as soon as his part was done he would be free to leave the JAG building, and then hopefully there wouldn’t be any problem with going to find Admiral Forrest and starting a conversation that included the words ‘Political Asylum’.

Still – he had to get the direct and then cross-examination over first. He was reasonably sure that whichever of the Starfleet attorneys took him through his evidence first would be reasonably tactful about the … the ‘alleged relationship’ side of things, if indeed it was mentioned at all, but he had a bad feeling about what the Vulcans would find to say about it. His fists clenched in anticipation.

 _Pain._ His head rang and buzzed with it. He hoped he wasn’t going to puke on the witness stand.

There was a gentle touch on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and found Phlox standing in front of him – while the desk clerk rose, ready to intervene.

But Phlox said nothing, simply looked hard at the aching double cleft that was sitting between his brows. At a guess he wasn’t looking so good at all, not when he was feeling like this.

Trip nodded emphatically, shut his eyes against the resulting wave of nausea, and grimaced to show how goddamn awful he felt.

_Good ol’ Phlox._

The Denobulan stepped over to the clerk. “I am a licensed medical practitioner currently working for Starfleet,” he said firmly. “Based on my current observations of Commander Tucker I believe he is unwell enough to require medical intervention so that he will be in the best condition to testify. Please ask him if this is the case and arrange for treatment to be given by someone qualified to do so and not involved in the trial.”

The clerk had to contact someone and find out what the position was, but permission was given and a Starfleet medic appeared. Trip sighed with relief as the hypospray hissed against his neck and blessed ease flooded his system. It didn’t cure it completely – a nagging ache remained, which was unusual, but maybe this standard analgesic wasn’t as effective as one of Phlox’s magic nostrums – but at least now he felt able to function.

It wasn’t a moment too soon, either, for less than five minutes later Malcolm appeared, flanked by his guards and once again being guided by them. That meant the trial was about to re-start.

_Not much longer now, buddy._

He was taken inside, and then after a brief pause – presumably while he was settled in his chair and handcuffed to it, and everyone else had gotten into their places and said whatever had to be said in these affairs – a clerk opened the door.

“Doctor T’Kuri is called to the witness stand, please.”

The immobile Vulcan opened his eyes, stood up, straightened his robes and strode the courtroom door, which closed behind him.

The whole procedure had to start again: the statement of whatever evidence the witness was there to give (guided by the relevant attorney) and then when that was completed, the cross-examination. It was impossible to say how long this would take; presumably this Doctor T’Kuri was there to call Phlox’s conclusions into question. That would undoubtedly get technical.

It looked like he and T’Pol were the prosecution’s only witnesses. When he’d been dealt with, it would be the defense’s turn.

“We’ll be calling Doctor Phlox first,” Hicks had said, in their last preparatory meeting. “Between his testimony and cross-examination, it’s our opinion the prosecution will essentially be finished.”

“So what are Doctor Langford and I needed for?”

“The likelihood is that Doctor Langford will not be called, though of course we’re glad to have her expertise to call on if necessary.” Her lack of reaction said that this didn’t come as a surprise. “But you, Commander, are our engineering expert. I’m quite sure you can provide more than enough information on the technical superiority of Vulcan technology to ours.”

“Some,” he’d agreed with feeling. At every encounter with Vulcan fleet ships he’d been awed by their size and strength, and during their earlier encounter with the crew of the _Vakhlas_ its friendly and open engineer Kov had been willing and happy to talk ‘shop’ as they worked. As a result he was more than able to demonstrate for the court’s benefit just how much lethal potential they’d have been leaving as a gift to the enemy if they’d just left the _Seleya_ adrift, its hapless crew abandoned to die as and when fate saw fit.

So, he wouldn’t be needed just yet. He picked up his book and started to read, but found it hard to concentrate; his headache was ramping up again. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, but there was a band of tension across the top of his skull – it felt almost as if he were wearing a pair of invisible metal headphones.

He put his book down and rubbed his temples, trying to ease it. He’d suffered this kind of thing often enough in the Expanse, where he like everyone else had been living on his nerves and his sleep suffered accordingly.

_I sure as hell could use some neuropressure right now…_

His mind went back to the glimpses of T’Pol he’d had yesterday. No more than glimpses, as she was taken back and forth escorted by Starfleet guards – what the hell had _that_ been all about?

And, of course, that weird – whatever it had been – that glimpse of the white space, and its lonely, exhausted inhabitant. The sight of her worn, weary little face had torn him in two.

As for whether any of that had been real, or whether it had been a weird dream, or what – who knew? _He_ sure didn’t.

Presumably, now she was no longer required as a witness (unless of course she was to be called back again later for any reason), she was free to go. But where to?

Back to Vulcan, presumably. She’d get a thin welcome from Starfleet after what she’d done.

Back to Koss.

Sonofa _bitch._

Suppose she’d already been sent back there? How would he ever get a message to her? And even if somehow he managed it (possibly with Hoshi’s help again), they’d most likely make sure she had no way of getting back to Earth, even if she wanted to…

_I’ll never see her again._

Almost certainly _Enterprise_ would be setting out again within the next few weeks, assuming Jon and Malcolm were released. Maybe he himself would be appointed the new XO, as he’d been supposed to be at the start. He hadn’t minded so much to begin with because it was kind of interesting seeing a Vulcan at close quarters – he hadn’t really encountered them since last saying goodbye his homeroom teacher Mr. Velik at school – and besides, her effective appointment was only temporary. Later on, he was happy enough for the situation to continue because she was damn good at her job and to be honest he didn’t much like the prospect of having to sit on the Bridge half the day; he was far happier being in Main Engineering where he could keep an eye on his beloved warp engine.

 _Enterprise_ would launch. But not with T’Pol at the Science Station. Maybe one of her team would step up, or maybe her replacement would get the job. Or maybe he’d get to step up at last, and Hess would have to cover in Main Engineering.

Yeah. But it would be a real different Bridge without her on it.

The realization suddenly hit him like a brick in the chest. Yeah, she was a married woman. _Someone else’s_ married woman. But that didn’t change the fact that down where it mattered, she was _his_ woman … his one and only.

He squeezed his eyes shut, stopping the tears from falling. If she was already gone she was most likely outside his help for good. Why should she ever get in touch with any of them again? All she’d believe was that they blamed her for a turncoat, for taking the enemy’s side against her own colleagues – when she _knew_ there was _nothing_ Jon or Malcolm or anyone else could possibly have done to save the _Seleya_ ’s crew.

A hand tapped his shoulder lightly, and he opened his eyes. Doctor Langford was standing in front of him, with a coffee on a tray – she must have asked the clerk to have some fetched. 

She didn’t speak, of course, but her eyes were kind. You got the feeling she was someone who'd always want to help, no matter if it was a total stranger lying in the road - and not just wailing and hand-wringing, but calling the ambulance and organizing blankets.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. Surely that didn’t break the spirit of the order, if not the letter?

The hot, black, unsweetened liquid steadied him even while it scalded his mouth.

Jon would be furious and hurt, that went without saying. Hell, anyone would be in his position! But when he knew, when he _understood_ – he’d never left any member of his crew behind.

The pain was still lying across his head. Now, weirdly, he thought he knew whose it was.

 _We won’t abandon you, sweetheart,_ he thought. _Just hang on in there_.


	35. Chapter 34: Reed

_Pathetic._

He wasn’t even a medical practitioner and even he knew the prosecution’s witness was pathetic. Plump, blond and massively dignified at first, T’Kuri looked and sounded like an intellectual whose acquaintance with practising medicine was limited to studying medical treatises in dusty old libraries. He had no facts and figures of his own; the ill-fated _Vaankara_ ’s crew had probably also attempted to protect themselves from the Expanse’s spatial anomalies by using trellium, but neither of the afflicted ships’ personnel had retained enough logical thought to try to transmit any data. The _Vaankara_ ’s only communication had been that dreadful video burst of the crew killing each other; the _Seleya_ ’s crew had only managed to activate the automatic distress signal.

So that left the unfortunate doctor – with no data except Phlox’s, and not even any historical evidence of the effects of trellium on the Vulcan nervous system to draw upon – trying to discredit the testimony of an extremely skilled medical practitioner, highly respected in the Interspecies Medical Exchange, who’d not only been on the spot and done all the analysis, but had recorded his findings and conclusions in the minutest detail like the meticulous scientist he was.

Having been instructed to do so, he’d tried. But as the extremely well-prepared Commander Sinclair sent shot after shot through his field experience (effectively none), testimony, conclusions and opinions under cross-examination, even the doctor’s Vulcan composure had started to shred. Finally he’d stammered, equivocated and contradicted himself, and by the time Sinclair subsided like a sated alligator and left his respected colleague to finish the job with a few pointed questions that had the unfortunate doctor squirming, even Judge Augustine was scowling.

“No further questions, your Honor.” Hicks resumed his seat.

“Does Prosecuting Counsel have any other witnesses to testify?” she demanded.

“No, your Honor.” Although S’Hella had maintained his impassive expression during the cross-questioning, he sounded almost relieved that he hadn’t got anyone else to throw to the lions.

“Counsel S’Hella, any redirect?”

“No, your Honor.”

“Does Prosecuting Counsel have any other witnesses to testify?”

“No, your Honor.”

“Then does the prosecution rest?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

The judge nodded and turned to the other table. “Does Defense Counsel have any witnesses?”

Sinclair rose again. “Yes, your Honor. Two.”

“Then you may call your first witness.”

As the unfortunate T’Kuri left the courtroom, clearly trying to drag the tattered remnants of his dignity around him like a shredded robe, Malcolm turned to watch Phlox. The news of the doctor's apparently miraculous reappearance just as the trial had been about to start had rolled a weight of worry off his shoulders, even if it wasn't quite as 'miraculous' to him as to everyone else - he'd been quietly hopeful it might happen ever since Holly had mentioned that phone call.

His first worry, that the doctor would show injuries sustained during his kidnapping or even his rescue, was largely unfounded. The doctor appeared to be walking without any apparent difficulty, and despite his preference for loose coats it did not seem as if he was bandaged anywhere – at least not enough for it to be visible. His face didn’t appear to be damaged, though on closer inspection there was a faint mark on one cheek that might well be a fading bruise.

The Denobulan might have a distressing preference for unorthodox medical treatments (Malcolm and the osmotic eel were far too well acquainted for the former’s liking), and appear positively jovial about ethics having nothing to say to his causing his patients as much pain as he liked, but when the chips were down he could totally look the part. He took the witness stand and made the affirmation with an air of calm, professional confidence.

Even the judge seemed to relax in her chair, as if anticipating something better worth listening to than the previous occupant of the stand had proven to be.

But even as he listened to Commander Sinclair leading the doctor into his opening statements, Malcolm found his attention wandering. 

So far at least, Hicks’ confidence had been well-founded. The prosecution’s witnesses had been shot to ribbons and even if the defence’s suffered the same fate (unlikely, but never say _impossible_ ), there remained the unalterable truth that _Enterprise_ had effectively been on a war footing. The captain would not, _could_ not, have left a ship as powerful and technologically advanced as the _Seleya_ to be claimed and reverse-engineered. Even if the Xindi themselves had not found it, the _Enterprise_ crew had experienced for themselves the piracy that thrived in the Expanse. What might have ensued if the Osaarians had come across the drifting hulk when all the crew had massacred one another? Even if they weren’t all that interested in exploiting the technology for themselves (and with a ship like that, how much more effective pirates they might become!) who knows what unfriendly forces they might have sold it to? At some point in the future, Starfleet and even the Vulcans themselves might have been badly startled by the result.

No; even given his entrenched (and often completely justified) pessimism, it was hard to see any other outcome to this farce of a hearing than the judge dismissing it – and preferably sending the Vulcan delegation away with a well-earned flea in the ear.

So. Given that the hearing never had a chance of actually succeeding, it therefore couldn’t be the point of the action.

So what _was?_

Without being unduly modest about his importance in the scheme of things, he was reasonably sure that he himself was, as he had said to Holly, merely collateral damage. If the captain was going to be charged over his conduct aboard the _Seleya_ , then his junior officers had likewise trespassed on Vulcan sovereign territory – if that was what they insisted it was, in defiance of the generally-accepted rules of salvage. It would be implausible to prosecute the captain for _giving_ an unlawful order without prosecuting the junior officer for _obeying_ an unlawful order. So as appalling as the event was for him personally, he doubted whether he was here in any other capacity than as a herring that had been caught in a tuna net.

If he wasn’t important enough to matter, that definitely couldn’t be said of Captain Archer. Fresh from the victory in the Xindi Mission, Starfleet’s ‘poster boy’ (however much he himself would despise that description) was definitely important enough to target – but _why?_

And Section 31 was involved. The moment Holly described the phone call, he’d been absolutely certain who it was from. 

He asked himself, as he had continually since hearing about it, what, if any, their involvement had been in Phlox’s kidnapping.

They _might_ , if Harris had felt it imperative, have kidnapped him themselves. For sure he would be safer in the Section’s hands than he clearly had been in Starfleet’s own. But it was unlikely they would have been quite so cavalier about shooting his guards. With the tentacles they had in the system, it was not only wasteful, it was unnecessary. Nothing was more certain that if the spymaster had decided the guards were an insurmountable barrier they would have been got rid of, but on Jupiter Station there were ample opportunities for Phlox to have been quietly spirited away, leaving no clues but a few neatly stunned personnel.

So _why_ were they involved?

For his benefit? Unlikely, he decided cynically. It was hardly likely Harris would have authorised any phone calls, but a Section 31 Black Ops team was not deployed unless it served Starfleet’s needs.

Would Captain Archer’s disgrace represent such a risk, if it happened?

 _Possibly._ At the very least it would be a huge embarrassment for Starfleet. But surely Harris was as able as any man to sum up the danger of it happening, and once again we were back to where we started: it almost certainly wasn’t going to happen.

Malcolm was more relieved than ever that he’d sent Holly to Admiral Forrest with his suspicions. At a guess, she’d also tell him about the phone call. That might tip him off that the Section might be active, if he didn’t already know. And that – if that secretive Section bastard felt like spilling the beans – might actually start to wash away even a fraction of the mud of mystery in which all of this whole business was currently submerged.

If Phlox _had_ been kidnapped, by whom and why?

And if it had been the Section who’d rescued him, how did they find him?

If it wasn’t even that important to retrieve him (after all, his testimony from the Starfleet investigation was admissible as evidence in the hearing), why did they bother?

Out of the goodness of Harris’s heart? _Don’t make me laugh._

So if the hearing wasn’t the danger, what was Harris protecting?

...The _Enterprise_?

...or was it _Starfleet itself?_


	36. Chapter 35: Phlox

“No further questions, your Honor.”

It has to be admitted that for all that Phlox hoped he was very tolerant of other professionals doing their jobs in exactly the same way he did his, it was all he could do not to snort at these words.

If he had carried out his job all these years the way these prosecutors had done theirs, he reflected, it was not immodesty to say that considerable numbers of his patients would not have survived to lead the happy and useful lives they had done – or, indeed, in many cases, any lives at all.

Admittedly, the close (if comfortable) confinement in which he was held between the day of his rescue and the start of the trial had been somewhat trying. But the computer terminal of which he was allowed the use held all the documentation he would need, up to and including material that was strictly classified.

When he’d demanded how this was possible, his laconic female Human guard simply observed that the best way to avoid finding out he wasn’t going to get any answers was not to ask any questions. Nevertheless, he still persisted for some while – patients’ records were protected for a reason, and he was most indignant that these appeared to have been obtained without even a legal subpoena – but apparently the files were protected by retinal scans, and on top of that the scanner checked for a pulse before taking the image. Whoever his very secretive rescuers were, they were no slouches in the technology department, and appeared to have at least some respect for the laws that governed data protection.

But though they might be disobliging with regard to answering questions about themselves, they were unfailingly polite, and within reason anything else he requested was provided without question. Even his food preferences seemed to have been taken into consideration, though he had always been happy to expand his horizons as regards the dishes native to any planet he visited. He did recall one rather unfortunate misunderstanding when Lieutenant Reed appeared to be confessing to a sneaking fondness for consuming a protected species of amphibian cooked in some kind of special receptacle, but that was soon cleared up.

And now, as nobody seemed to have anything more to ask of him, he was finally thanked by the judge (with a measured warmth) and dismissed.

As he walked past the defending counsel’s table he was able to get a closer look at the defendants. Naturally as their medical practitioner in their professional lives he had already glanced at them from time to time, assessing their condition after the wearing months of awaiting the hearing, but what he had seen made him a little anxious.

They would have been other than Human if they hadn’t been tense. Superficially both of them appeared healthy enough, but the captain looked tired and drawn, though he managed a grateful smile for the doctor’s brisk and compelling testimony. Lieutenant Reed, however, was so rigid it seemed an unwary movement might snap him like an icicle, and contrived only a brief, tight nod. Of course, he was secured to his chair like a criminal, which would exacerbate anyone’s anxieties, but the presence as a witness of a psychologist who had apparently been treating him had aroused a good deal of Phlox’s professional curiosity.

The extraordinary stresses and burdens laid upon the shoulders of all the _Enterprise_ officers and crew during the mission to the Expanse had led to his recommendation to Starfleet that counseling should be made available to all of the survivors as a matter of the highest urgency. Naturally this would be under the protection of strict confidentiality, but as the ship’s physician he had made recommendations as to who should be regarded as a priority. 

This list had included all of the senior officers, though it certainly had not been confined to them. There were many of their juniors who had been traumatized by things they had seen or suffered, including a number who had sustained life-changing injuries. His role after the battle at Azati Prime had required him to carry out several amputations, this being the only way to save the lives of some of the casualties, and all of Starfleet’s rehabilitation programs would be focused on helping these survivors learn how to navigate their new world with the prosthetics they would be given.

It was probably inevitable that although the junior ranks had by and large accepted the help they were offered – even the Bridge ensigns had agreed to attend counseling – their seniors had baulked. Lieutenant Hess had been the only one who wisely did as she was advised to.

It was probable that at least some benefit was to be expected from Captain Archer escaping into the mountains with Captain Hernandez; even if they had not indulged in mating (which Phlox certainly hoped they had, given the time the captain had endured enforced celibacy on board ship), fresh air and strenuous exercise were beneficial in themselves and it was a reasonable expectation that Archer would feel able to unburden himself at least to some extent to a woman and an old friend who co-ranked him. It might not be as effective as help from a professionally trained counselor, but it was a great deal better than nothing. As his CMO Phlox could technically order him to attend sessions before the ship set out again (after all this nonsense of a hearing had been disposed of, naturally) but enforced compliance was never as effective as willing cooperation. And after this additional misery of ridiculous and entirely groundless accusations leveled against him, it was to be hoped that he would be more amenable to the idea when it was set before him.

Phlox had been happily surprised by the news that Commander Tucker and Sub-Commander T’Pol had traveled together to Vulcan. Given the difficulty he had had in engineering their closeness in the Expanse – a closeness that could surely only benefit both of them, especially Commander Tucker, whose mental acuity was suffering from his inability to relax – he had not been sure it would survive the return to Earth. But the commander’s return alone and subsequent disappearance had caused him the greatest anxiety; had he completely misread a delicate situation and made things not better but infinitely worse?

He was later relieved, and again somewhat surprised, to learn that Lieutenant Reed had accepted the services of a psychologist. However, as Phlox emerged back into the corridor, he looked at Doctor Langford and wondered when exactly Mister Reed had been referred to her and why.

Over the course of the ship’s voyages, the lieutenant had occasionally and in the strictest confidence made reference to his previous role as an undercover agent for Starfleet’s Black Operations arm. He had clearly regarded that service as over and done with, but the past and its influences are never quite that simple.

Until the trial was over Phlox was still prevented from speaking to her, even in his capacity as her patient’s CMO on board ship. Afterwards, if the opportunity offered, he might see if there was any way of introducing himself to her. Because for all that he was frequently exasperated by his most obdurate patient’s lack of cooperation with him, he knew that the lieutenant was a devoted servant to the ship and its crew. If any careful understanding he could come to with a fellow professional would enable him to better understand and help a secretive and complex officer, he was more than willing to make the attempt.

Phlox, too, was a protector.


	37. Chapter 36: Tucker

“Yes, sir, we had our difficulties.” Trip stared back at Commander Sinclair’s impassive face. “Like I’ve explained, we go back to the start of the NX Project, but any friendship has its ups and downs. When the probe hit and we were sent into the Expanse, Cap’n Archer was under a huge strain – it was bound to tell sometimes.”

He knew this was necessary; the defense exposed the bad stuff first and dealt with it out in the open before the prosecution could jump out with it like it was something that someone had tried to keep covered. But that didn’t make it feel any better to stand here and say it, especially with the two people you were damning sitting there listening to every word.

Okay, they knew why you had to do it. And they knew he was telling the truth. But sometimes the truth is the hardest thing in the world to hear.

“Can you explain to the court in what way it affected your relationship?”

“Well – he had all that weight on his shoulders, he didn’t have the time to be what you’d call a ‘friend’ anymore. All he cared about – all he could _afford_ to care about – was how well you were doin’ your job. An’ in my case, that was keepin’ the ship runnin’.

“I’m not sayin’ he didn’t care about Lizzie. He’d met her, he knew her, I know he did care. But he had to shut that side of things away so he could do _his_ job properly. We all knew he had to do it, an’ we knew why, but it – it didn’t make him easy to work with sometimes.”

The word _obsessed_ hung in the air. Like _driven_ and _unapproachable._

“And your working relationship with Lieutenant Reed? I understand it had been largely amicable up till then.”

“It suffered some,” he said in a low voice. “He – he probably coped the best of all of us with the Expanse. And it – sometimes I suppose I kind of envied that.”

“Did you envy him for any other reason?”

“I guess so,” he mumbled, hating himself for how petty it sounded now. “A little bit. I knew even at the time it was mean, but – England hadn’t been attacked. An’ _he_ hadn’t lost anyone.”

“And what was the outcome of this – ‘envy’?”

“I – I got pissed off when he tried to talk to me about how to cope with losses when he hadn’t had any. It got to the point for a while where I just didn’t want to talk to the guy, except when I had to. He was always tryin’ his best to help, an’ I – I didn’t react real well. By that time I was so tired most of the time I didn’t know how to react to anything.”

“And what would you say your opinion was of his technical abilities?”

A weary smile. “I wouldn’t put him in charge of _Enterprise_ ’s warp engine, but short of that I’d trust him with pretty well anything around the ship; there’s a desk an’ a big welcome waitin’ for him at Starfleet R&D whenever he gets tired of keepin’ _Enterprise_ safe while we’re explorin’ the stars.”

S’Hella stood up. “Objection, your Honor. Non-responsive, speculation and conclusion. Motion to strike the answer after ‘around the ship’.”

Judge Augustine nodded. “Granted. Everything after ‘around the ship’ to be stricken from the records.”

Sinclair inclined his head, accepting the correction before turning back again. “Commander Tucker, please can you give the court your opinion of Lieutenant Reed’s record of following orders?

“Lieutenant Reed’s one of the most conscientious guys I know. You tell him to do something an’ he’ll do it or bust himself open tryin’.”

“Thank you, Commander.” The attorney paused. “Now, would you please explain to the court how you came to have discussions of a technical nature with the Chief Engineer of the _Vakhlas_?”


	38. Chapter 37: Archer

S’Hella rose from his chair to make the prosecution’s Closing Statement, his face set in lines of grim determination, and Jon’s stomach clenched. _Now for it._

“May it please the Court, Counsels for the defense,” the attorney began.

“Before the Court are two felony counts alleged against Captain Jonathan Archer and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. Count 1 alleging Second Degree Murder and Count 2 alleging Voluntary Manslaughter. 

“For the purposes of this hearing the prosecution has the burden at this Article 32 hearing, to elicit evidence that there is reasonable cause to believe Second Degree Murder in Count 1, Voluntary Manslaughter in Count 2, or both were committed, and there is reasonable cause to believe the defendants, Captain Jonathan Archer and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, committed the crimes, or either of the crimes as alleged, and as such, the matter should be referred for a General Court Martial.

“That burden we accept, and submit that we have met.

“The crime of Second Degree Murder requires the act of killing another person with intent or reckless disregard that serious harm or death may occur, but without pre-meditation. Put another way, it is a killing that was the result of an act that was intended to cause death or serious harm by reckless disregard that death or serious harm will occur. 

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified _Enterprise_ intercepted an automated distress call from the Vulcan ship _Seleya_ , and that Captain Archer made the decision to go to the ship and render aid. 

“When _Enterprise_ reached Seleya, the ship was found to be heavily damaged and located in an asteroid field containing the substance trellium. Other than the automated distress call _Enterprise_ could not raise the crew of the _Seleya_.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that Captain Archer, herself, Lieutenant Reed, and the MACO, Corporal Hawkins boarded Shuttlepod One for the trip over to the _Seleya_. 

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that she had served on the ship for over a year as its deputy science officer under Captain Voris before joining the Vulcan consulate on Earth.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that the last information was the _Seleya_ had been attempting to chart the thermobaric perimeter of the Expanse when they were pulled into the Expanse itself by some kind of subspace eddy. No further transmissions were heard from them.

“The reasonable inference that may be drawn from Sub-Commander T’Pol’s testimony to this point is that Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Hawkins were aware that the Vulcan High Command had received no information from the _Seleya_ since it entered the Expanse and they should expect the worse possible situation.

“The prosecution submits, and stipulates, that the crew of the _Seleya_ was seriously affected by exposure to the trellium. 

“But–”, and his tone hardened, “we _also_ submit and argue, that the crew’s exposure and their reaction to the trellium, does not constitute a defense to or justify the actions of Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed in destroying the _Seleya_ and killing the crew.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that at every meeting with _Seleya_ crewmen she, Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Hawkins were able to meet, stop, and or deflect the attacking Vulcan crewman with less than lethal force, by stunning them.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol did not once testify that the stun setting on their weapons did not work on the Vulcan crew.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that at one point she had to order Corporal Hawkins to put his weapon back on the stun setting after she observed him changing it to kill. 

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that after making their way to the control room Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Hawkins were able to secure the hatch to the room without any problem.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that Lieutenant Reed encrypted the door’s locking code without any problem, even though this was Vulcan technology.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that she ordered Lieutenant Reed, a highly experienced armory officer, with engineering experience, to realign the actuator circuits to allow her to control the bulkheads.”

Up till this moment he’d been sonorous, very much aloof from the statements he was making. Now, however, a glance of almost venomous contempt flickered towards Malcolm, and a scathing note entered his voice.

“ _At no time_ did Lieutenant Reed indicate that he was unable to realign the actuator circuits.

“ _At no time_ did he indicate he was unable to carry out the order to him made by Sub-Commander T’Pol. 

“ _At no time_ did he ask for additional instruction on the actuator circuits. 

“ _At no time_ did he ask Sub-Commander T’Pol to review his work. 

“At _every step of the way_ Lieutenant Reed never indicated that realigning the actuators was beyond his abilities. 

“And Sub-Commander T’Pol, at that point in time, had no reason to believe he could not carry out her instructions, as he had just shown by encrypting the locking mechanism on the door to the control room – a piece of Vulcan technology – successfully.

“Sub-Commander T’Pol testified that when she attempted to access the controls alongside the actuator circuits she received an electric shock, which would not have happened if they had been correctly aligned. Lieutenant Reed knew or should have known that if he was unsure of how to align the actuators he could ask the Sub-Commander for help, and she would have complied – or in fact he had failed to properly align the actuators and hoped it would go unnoticed. But he did not. His actions were grossly negligent and in wanton disregard for the safety of the crew of the _Seleya_!”

Jon spared a glance for his tactical officer, trying to catch his eye and wishing it was possible to put an unobtrusive, supporting hand on his arm. _Don’t listen to this, Malcolm. It’s bullshit._

Reed was simply sitting there. Watching the prosecutor steadily. His eyes were the pale gray of icy pools on a night of killing frost. 

“Lieutenant Reed’s grossly negligent actions in failing to properly realign the actuators began a cascading series of events that led destruction of the _Seleya_ and ultimately to the destruction of the ship when Captain Archer ordered him to destroy it. It was Lieutenant Reed who recommended that the power grid be overloaded to destroy the _Seleya_ and kill its crew!”

Vulcan or not, S’Hella’s righteous indignation was gathering way fast now, though as he turned his head to take in the other murdering Human who’d brought about more than a hundred needless deaths he infused his tone with grievous weight, as though it pained him to bring such an accusation against an officer who should have known so much better. “The prosecution submits that Captain Archer’s obsession with the mission had created a callous monster without regard to life. His dislike of Vulcans exacerbated his callousness towards the _Seleya_ crew and led him to issue the order for the ship to be destroyed, leaving no possibility whatsoever that any member or members of the crew could recover and regain control of the vessel. He is complicit and responsible for the actions of Lieutenant Reed.

“Captain Archer acted in a wanton and reckless disregard for the safety and lives of the crew of the _Seleya_ , whose safety rested in his hands, by ordering Lieutenant Reed to overload the power grid, destroying the _Seleya_ and killing its crew.”

He took a breath to calm himself before continuing in a more measured voice, “The destroying of the _Seleya_ was not necessary to the completion of Captain Archer and _Enterprise_ ’s mission.

“Therefore, the Prosecution submits that it has met its burden of proof in this Article 32 hearing, that the evidence supports that there is reasonable cause to believe Second Degree Murder of the crew of the _Seleya_ was committed, and there is reasonable cause to believe the defendants, Captain Jonathan Archer and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed committed the crime, and as such, the matter should be sent for a General Court Martial.

“Further, the facts above support a finding that there is reasonable cause to believe that Voluntary Manslaughter in Count 2 of the Crew of the _Seleya_ was committed, and that there is reasonable cause to believe that that Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed committed the crime, and should be held referred to a General Court Martial.

“Voluntary Manslaughter is perpetrated in the heat of passion. Heat of passion refers to the emotional state of an individual who has been strongly provoked to violence, which leads to his act of killing.

“It is clear from Sub-Commander T’Pol’s testimony that the Captain and Lieutenant Reed were reacting to the extreme violence of the _Seleya_ ’s crew,” he granted loftily, this hardly being disputable given the weight of the evidence from his own witness.

“But, that did not justify the actions of either Captain Archer ordering the destruction of the _Seleya_ , nor did it justify Lieutenant Reed in suggesting the ship’s destruction, and then carrying out the order.

“Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed were subjected to extreme violence throughout their movement through the _Seleya_ , but that violence did not justify killing the crew by causing an overloaded of the power grid, which would destroy the ship and kill the crew after they departed in Shuttlepod One.” He glared at them, his face a picture of reproach. “Though they were strongly provoked to violence, they could have departed from the ship without destroying it and killing the crew.

“Captain Archer, Sub-Commander T’Pol, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Hawkins _could_ have escaped from the _Seleya_ without destroying it, and that is the issue. There was no need to destroy the ship to escape. But for being strongly provoked by the trellium affected crewmen, they would not have destroyed it.

“The Prosecution submits it has meet its burden of proof to support a finding that there is reasonable cause to believe that Voluntary Manslaughter in Count 2 of the Crew of the _Seleya_ was committed, and that there is reasonable cause to believe that that Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed committed the crime, and should be held referred to a General Court Martial.”


	39. Chapter 38: Reed

_Let me get my hands on that bastard. Just thirty seconds, that’s all it would take..._

His hands were gripping the struts of the chair so hard his knuckles were aching. He had to hold on to something or he would explode up into the attack.

He’d get nowhere if he did, of course – he’d simply fall across the counsel’s table with the chair attached to him by the handcuffs – but if he moved so much as a finger he’d lose control of his mouth. And if that happened Captain Archer would get to see a whole new side of his prim and proper British tactical officer.

 _‘...grossly negligent and in wanton disregard for the safety of the crew of the_ Seleya _.'_ The arsehole should have spent half an hour there himself and see how piously judgemental he felt then, with the cold sweat of fear making the palms sticky and the years of training in remaining cool under fire struggling with the primeval craving to survive!

The safety of the boarding party was the Tactical Officer’s first and overriding responsibility. He’d dutifully accompanied a rescue party, but long before the time they’d got to the _Seleya_ ’s Main Engineering his focus had shifted to getting them all off this ship of horrors alive – there was clearly no earthly way they were going to rescue anybody. But would anyone short of a certified lunatic think he’d increased their chances of survival by effectively turning the _Seleya_ into a ticking time bomb?

He could endure being labelled a murderer – he supposed that to the Vulcans, that was what he was. But this bastard was labelling him an idiot to boot. According to this, he was either too incompetent to follow orders correctly, too vain to ask for advice if he needed it, or too thick to realise that if he set a time limit on their own escape from an environment they’d already found was immensely hostile, he was exponentially decreasing their chances of achieving it!

At least his worst fears hadn’t been realised. There had been no attack from the captain, no attempt made to shift the blame onto him. But the way the prosecution counsel seemed to be framing his statements suggested that practically the whole damned thing was _his_ fault, with the captain seemingly relegated to little more than the accessory required to authorise him to murder the _Seleya_ ’s crew and stroll away from it!

Well, yes. If it boiled down to ‘who did what’, he was the one who’d actually handled the actuators and initiated the sequence that ended in the _Seleya_ ’s destruction. So on that level it made sense that he was the one on whom the prosecutor was heaping the lion’s share of blame, because his actions were provable. And it wasn’t like it mattered, not at this stage; the proper distribution of guilt would only be established if this went to Court Martial, and sentences handed down accordingly. But the injustice still left him incandescent with rage.

Even in his Black Ops days he hadn’t really enjoyed killing, though his initial distaste had worn into something approaching indifference. It was something he did when he was required to. But even at his worst, he’d never joyfully premeditated the feeling of his hands closing around his victim’s scrawny throat, throttling the lies out of it and crushing his larynx beyond repair.

Fortunately for his mounting fury, the attorney beside him stood up and began to speak.

“Your Honor, the defense makes a motion to dismiss both courts on the grounds of Military Necessity, which the defense has already stipulated is at issue in this case.

“Military necessity is governed by several constraints: an attack or action must be intended to help in the military defeat of the enemy; it must be an attack on a military objective; and the harm caused to civilians or civilian property must be proportional and ‘not excessive in relation to the concrete and direct military advantages anticipated’.

“Although the _Enterprise_ was neither commissioned nor originally designed as a military vessel, the attack on Earth and its mission to prevent a second and potentially catastrophic attack using a weapon designed to destroy Earth itself effectively meant that it was operating on a military footing.

“It was therefore Captain Archer’s plain duty to use any means to prevent a military advantage from falling into the hands of the enemy.

“The _Seleya_ contained technology and weaponry far more advanced than Earth’s own. There was every reason to believe that if it had fallen into the enemy’s hands – if not into the Xindi’s, into those of any species which might later have come to represent a serious threat to Earth’s stability and security – then this technology and weaponry might have contributed significantly to this threat.

“The defense, through cross-examination of Sub-Commander T’Pol, has shown and proved that although Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed at no time intended harm to the crew of the _Seleya_ or to the sovereign property of the Vulcan government, in the last analysis their unavoidable duty was to destroy the ship to prevent that threat from becoming a reality.

“The loss of life involved, while regrettable to all, was not only unavoidable, it was not excessive in relation to the numbers who would have died here on Earth if the Xindi attack had been successful.

“I therefore move that the defendants have no case to answer, and that the case be dismissed on those grounds.”

Commander Augustine nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander Hicks. Does the Prosecution wish to argue against the motion to dismiss? Please limit your argument to the defense of Military Necessity.”

S’Hella rose, with an expression of indignation. “With respect, Your Honor. The prosecution argues that the ship and crew could have been left in the field to their own demise. Killing them was not necessary, and the possibility of the ship, its technology, and weapons being captured was minor, if not insignificant!”

The judge seemed to already be prepared for this motion. She shook her head. “Thank you, Counsel S’Hella. While I’m sensitive to the deaths of the Vulcan crewmen and the destruction of the _Seleya_ , I believe the risk to Earth and its citizens far outweighed the harm caused by the actions of Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed. By Sub-Commander T’Pol’s own testimony on cross-examination she agreed that the ship’s design, technology, weapon systems and warp drive were far more advanced than those of _Enterprise_ , Earth’s premier starship. If that technology had reached the hands of the Xindi, a species that had already killed over seven million citizens of Earth, the results would have been catastrophic for Earth, as well as Vulcan.

“As such, I’m granting the defense motion to dismiss both counts against Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed, on the grounds that the destruction and death of the _Seleya_ and crew were a Military Necessity, and not refer this matter for General Court Martial. Both officers are released from any restrictions or confinement forthwith. Thank you to all Counsel.

“The Court is in recess.”


	40. Chapter 39: Reed

_Charges dismissed!_

He didn’t hear any of the rest of it. He was too busy yanking frenziedly at the handcuffs, the handcuffs he shouldn’t be wearing, because he was a free man, an _innocent_ man!

He was shaking so hard he could hardly hold still long enough for the guard to unlock them. When at last the metal clicked open he started rubbing and rubbing at his wrist, trying to erase the very memory of the metal being there. In that moment he wasn’t very far from licking at the reddened flesh as though the bracelet of angry marks were an open wound just above his paw.

There were happenings at the edge of his consciousness. His body rose to pay respect as the judge left the Bench, but only because everyone else’s did; his brain had no attention to spare for anything but the wild relief of freedom. That accomplished, he sat down again because his legs wouldn’t hold him up any more. He found himself pounding his fists against his thighs, and to his horror realised he wasn’t far off tears; and tears being a thing altogether inappropriate for a Reed (at least, in such a public setting – later, he might well need the release), he bit his lip and blinked until the fit passed, at least for the time being.

Everyone else was smiling and shaking hands – except the Vulcans, of course, who were gathering up their things and looking sour, if not particularly surprised.

“Malcolm!” He almost jerked backwards as the captain put a hand on each of his shoulders and pulled him upright. “How are you feeling?”

“I – I’m not sure, sir,” he stuttered. Primarily he wanted to lift his stiffened hands and knock away that friendly grip in one savage movement, for reasons so complex even he couldn’t have listed them. After going so long with hardly any close human contact, he found it hard to deal with anyone inside his personal space and speaking to him directly.

“It’ll take a while.” Maybe something of his turmoil showed on his face, for the hands squeezed reassuringly and released him. “I take it you’ll be going back to England for what’s left of your shore leave?”

From somewhere he dredged up something that would do duty as a smile. “I’d imagine the repairs to _Enterprise_ must be nearly finished by now, sir.”

Archer nodded. “But consider yourself on compassionate leave for the next couple of weeks, Lieutenant. She’ll need a shakedown cruise and some space trials, but that’s nothing the tech crews can’t handle. I want you fit and rested before you come back on board, and that’s an order. If you need more time, take it. This has been rough on all of us.”

There had been a time when he’d have spurned the offer of compassionate leave, but today wasn’t it. He knew that he’d just about reached the end of his rope, and if he was to be the Tactical Officer the ship needed he had to patch himself up, and seriously this time. It was still hard to believe it was all over; he was churning inside with too many tightly held emotions, and he knew that sooner or later the reaction would come, and would need to be dealt with. In peace and privacy, with someone he could trust to deal with all the fallout and still love him. _Crumpets on the hearthrug, with or without damson jam. And maybe this would be the time..._

But he was glad, all the same, that he hadn’t had to follow through on his resolve to stage a final spectacular exit if that was the only way to reveal the injustice of his sentence. For all that his captivity had thinned far too many of the bars behind which he’d kept his old life and his worse self safely caged, he hadn’t truly wanted the innocent to die as they would have done. And though the prison guards had been brisk and efficient, none of them had been actively cruel to him, which they could have been. One or two of the less disciplined ones had even looked at him with the eyes of hero-worship, which in itself had been enough to cut him to the bone.

Still, the contact with the captain – uncomfortable as it had been – had woken him to the proper protocols that applied on such occasions. There were thanks to be offered, and he pushed his own chaotic feelings to the back of his mind and rendered them.

“I haven’t been as co-operative or as grateful as I should have been, sir,” he said quietly, shaking Hicks’ hand. “But thank you. And please, pass on my gratitude to the rest of your team.”

“I’ll do that, Lieutenant.” He smiled. “It’s been an honor.”

By this time the news had broken in the corridor outside. Phlox had bustled back in, beaming literally from ear to ear (a display that both the defence attorneys clearly found startling) and Trip was thumping both Malcolm and the captain on the back, his tired face alight; and Holly was there in the background, though in keeping with her role she made no overt demonstration.

 _Holly..._ the woman whose quiet and unswerving acceptance had given him his soul back. Only as their eyes met did he find a smile of answering joy breaking over his face as the reality of the nightmare being finally at an end washed over him.

Trip, of course, was as inconveniently observant as ever. Catching that look, he nudged Malcolm and whispered “So when did you meet her, then?”

In a normal life he’d come back with some answer that was as evasive as it was trenchant. Today, however, his normal ‘Sod off!’ seemed a little harsh, so he simply grinned in reply, setting himself up no doubt for further interrogation in due course.

“I guess dinner’s on you, then, Jon?”

“I guess it is, Trip.” The captain yawned and stretched, smiling. “But first I’m going to catch some shuteye. Feels like I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in years.”

“I would definitely recommend that, Captain. And if you feel you might have any difficulty nodding off, I happen to have with me some secretions of my...”

“Doc, if I have any problems, I guarantee I’ll give you a call.”

Probably the courtroom was required for the next case, for moments later they were all politely asked to leave by the clerk of the court. In a happy group they all trooped out into the corridor and down the stairs, pausing only to take farewells of the attorneys who were bound for their room and presumably more work to note down the details of the successful outcome.

“Damn, it’s raining!” Trip looked in dismay at the glass frontage of the reception area, which was being pelted with heavy drops. “Anyone got an umbrella?”

“Don’t you _dare_.” Malcolm pushed through the door and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes for a moment to drink in the sensation. That was one of the things you got to experience, when you were free: the feeling of rain on your face.

Unobtrusively, under cover of their momentary closeness, Holly took hold of his hand – an action that was not quite unobtrusive enough to escape the notice of a pair of unearthly blue eyes and elicit another face-splitting smile. Without a shadow of a doubt Phlox was now contemplating the beneficial effects of sex in helping a released prisoner reacclimatise to freedom. Malcolm was definitely planning to work that idea into the conversation himself, but at a much later hour and certainly without an audience, and he made a mental note to have a stern word in the doctor’s ear before the dinner. Holly would probably be far more amused than scandalised by the Denobulan’s cheerful matter-of-factness about ‘mating’, but it wouldn’t help his own far subtler campaign to have her interrupt with twinkling eyes that Phlox had said the same thing but in a lot fewer words.

For the time being, it was agreed that everybody needed a drink. Grumbling good-naturedly about the rain, which continued to tumble from the clouds, they made their way towards the accommodation block, which had a dining area on the ground floor – complete with a licensed bar for the officers. The occasion definitely called for something a lot stronger than coffee.

 _Puddles..._ At the back of the little group Malcolm stamped in one just for the hell of it, and Holly scolded him playfully for splashing her best shoes. But she squeezed his hand too, before releasing it, and he knew she understood exactly why he’d done it.

They’d just reached the shelter of the block’s entrance when a flitter drew up, and from it emerged Admiral Forrest, with a smile that was almost as broad as Phlox’s. He hopped up the couple of shallow steps and clasped the captain warmly around the shoulders. “Jon, I couldn’t be more pleased!” He turned to shake hands with Malcolm. “Well done, everybody!”

Unnoticed in the general gladness, two other people had got out of the flitter, and Forrest turned to include them.

“This isn’t the place to go into details,” he said, low-voiced. “But I want you to know straight away that we suspect a conspiracy in the High Command. And what you _definitely_ need to know is that this young lady has been subjected to blackmail to force her to testify, and has now appealed for political asylum.”

“Which I believe will be granted, and for which I am duly grateful.” Soval was as calm as ever, but as he glanced down at his companion there was no mistaking his affection and respect.

“I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, Captain, Lieutenant.” T’Pol stood very straight, looking from one to the other of them. “My mother’s safety was threatened if I failed to cooperate. I weighed your welfare against hers, and made my decision. For everything that decision has caused you, I am truly sorry.”

There was a moment’s silence. Malcolm glanced at the captain, willing him to speak for both of them; he wasn’t sure his own voice would serve him just then.

Archer stared back at her expressionlessly for perhaps thirty seconds. Gone was the naïve, impulsive young explorer who’d taken the _Enterprise_ out of space dock half-prepared. This was the face of the man who’d stared down the Expanse and seen his own demons there.

Then, slowly, the smile appeared. “Well, I guess you’ll all like to join us for dinner tonight then. All officers and friends invited.”

Soval blinked and for a second or two seemed perilously close to smiling in his turn. “That is very gracious of you, Captain, especially in the circumstances. Unless T’Pol has any objection, we would be happy to accept.”

The tiniest flicker of a glance towards a certain Commander Tucker, whose expression was one of quiet satisfaction. “I believe that would be most agreeable.”

“I’ll book a table and let everyone know when and where!” declared the admiral. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, we’ve got a meeting to go to.” He grimaced and added, “Probably not the last!”

The flitter’s passengers got back in and the vehicle sped away. No doubt the meeting to come would be at an extremely high level. Malcolm wondered briefly and irreverently whether Harris would be putting in an appearance, but it wasn’t likely; he might possibly be provoked into providing ‘information received’, but that was the most that could be expected.

“Jon, d’you think there’d be a problem if I asked Hoshi along?” asked Trip. “She’s in Sonoma at the moment but I’m sure she’ll drive down if I call her right now. I don’t think we’d be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“Sure! I’ll call Max and let him know.” The captain led the way into the building. “I’ve heard some of this from Sinclair, but...”

Malcolm held back for a moment and, seeing him, Holly paused in the doorway, waiting for him.

“You don’t value it till you’ve lost it,” he said in a low voice, looking around him, his gaze abstracted.

“I know, sweetie,” she replied softly. “Perhaps I had to learn that too.”

The word brought his gaze back to her. “You mean...?”

She dimpled roguishly. “I rule nothing in...”

“...And nothing out. Now, how did I know you were going to say that?” With a couple of long strides he rejoined her. “Come on, I want that drink. But don’t think this conversation is over, Missy, because it’s not.”

“Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?” she asked as they headed for the table where the others were pulling out chairs.

“Oh, I’m sure I can find a bed somewhere. Preferably one with you in it.”

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Holly, you have yet to learn just how persistent I can be if I want something hard enough. And did you know you look perfectly lovely when you’re blushing? I don’t think I’ve ever managed to make you blush before.”

“Despite your best efforts.” She laughed. “Be careful, Commander Tucker’s looking at us.”

“Oh, he’s in no position to throw stones. I’ve got a few questions _I_ can ask _him_ if he starts getting too nosy about us.” He glanced at Trip, who winked and grinned.

“Looks like T’Pol won’t be going back to Vulcan in a hurry, then,” he remarked as the two of them reached the table. “Good news for some, eh?”

The grin turned into a glare.

Captain Archer coughed. “How about we tell this poor waiter what drinks we want instead of keeping him hanging around?”

“Yes, indeed!” Phlox had picked up the cocktail menu and was studying it with interest. “My, what fascinating names some of these drinks have! Would anyone fancy a ‘Long Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall’?”

As the captain and Trip spluttered, Malcolm looked meaningfully at Holly, who was struggling not to laugh – though he noticed she’d gone pinker than ever.

 _You will, my girl,_ he told her silently. _Sooner or later, you will!_


	41. Chapter 40: T'Pol

Sol was setting.

It had been a long day. There had been a considerable amount of work to be done in connection with her application for political asylum; after all, it was hardly surprising that it had caused more than a little furor when the news broke on Vulcan. Ambassador Soval had been active behind the scenes, deflecting at least some of the criticism at higher levels, though the silence from the High Command itself had been ominous.

So her choice had been made. Effectively Vulcan was lost to her.

And her mother…

T’Les had indeed disappeared from their home, and official enquiries had not succeeded in discovering her whereabouts. Though given that a couple of other suspected dissidents had also vanished in the same night, it was possible that all of them had been snatched up in a raid on potential enemies of the State. If that was the case, nobody might ever know what had happened to any of them.

‘ _She’s safe! She’s gone to join the Syrrannites!_

_‘She’s safe! You don’t have to lie anymore!’_

_Was_ she safe?

Would she ever find out?

Starfleet HQ was positioned on the edge of the bay, and given her now rather sensitive status she’d been given quarters there. She’d spent the afternoon in conference with Soval and several Starfleet admirals, discussing what might lie behind that mysterious attack on Jonathan Archer and Lieutenant Reed – the attack that had had virtually no chance of succeeding. Now that she had thrown in her lot with the Humans she felt no compunction about sharing with them as much as she knew about the High Command and its often extremely secretive workings. 

Soval, also present, had occasionally frowned, but he had his own concerns about the way Vulcan politics was shaping and did not interfere. He understood that she felt obliged to be open in return for being granted asylum, even if his own still divided loyalties did not allow him to be the same.

The ambassador had departed just under an hour ago. She was certainly not allowed to return to the Vulcan compound in Sausalito, and she felt a mild regret for the calm and order that reigned there – the gardens in particular were austere and beautiful – but there was no logic in looking back.

She had not, up till now, had any interaction with any of her fellow-officers from _Enterprise_. She understood that on Admiral Forrest’s recommendation she was to be offered a commission at a rank equal to that she had already held, but so far nothing had been said regarding on what ship she was to serve. Still, she was aware that wounds take time to heal, and relationships can be wounded just as bodies can; and so she had made no attempt to seek out any of the men she had so grievously injured, allowing time for their undoubtedly turbulent emotions to settle a little. 

Her initial apology would not be nearly enough to mend what had been so horribly shattered. There would need to be adjustments made on all sides, and almost certainly it would take time before any real healing could take place. But though conversation during the celebratory meal on that first day had occasionally seemed a little forced, a later one with Ensign Sato had given her hope that it was possible to rebuild at least some of what she had been coerced into destroying.

“They understand why you did what you did,” Hoshi had said over a cup of mint tea on a balcony overlooking the shore. “That helps. Give it time, they’ll come round. Habit’s a hard thing to break, especially when you don’t really want to.”

And, most unexpectedly, the ensign had given her a hug when she left.

Habit. The years aboard _Enterprise_ had forged a number of habits. Most of them had been habits of operation, but growing unseen among them had been the habit of trust. Of … friendship.

Human emotions were still strange to her, a minefield into which she ventured only with caution. Although naturally akin to Vulcan ones, they were both weaker and stronger. Weaker, in that they were inherently less powerful in nature; stronger, because they exercised such influence over almost everything Humans did. Soval had been wholly correct in remarking once that Humans were such a mass of contradictions that one never knew at any given time which facet of them you would find yourself dealing with.

Now, once again, she found herself back on the shore. Alone this time. There were people out enjoying the last of the sunshine – playing with their children, walking their canines, or even just sitting on the benches and enjoying the view in silence.

For Humans, it was probably quite a pleasantly warm evening. For a Vulcan it was a little on the chilly side, and she wrapped her short coat more tightly around herself and wished she’d chosen something rather warmer.

“So how was the honeymoon?” asked a familiar voice behind her.

She thrust her hands into her pockets. “The first part of it was spent meditating at Mount Seleya – alone. The second part I was effectively under house arrest at the High Command’s headquarters, where I was not allowed to see or speak to anyone except my attorneys and Administrator V’Las’s spies.”

“Doesn’t sound like a barrel of laughs.” He moved forward unhurriedly and leaned on the railing beside her, staring out across the water.

“Since I am no longer a Vulcan citizen I imagine Koss will divorce me immediately,” she went on evenly. “So there is, to use the Human expression, ‘a silver lining to every cloud’.”

Neither of them said anything for a while.

“How did you know about my mother?” she asked at last.

“So I _did_ get through to you.” He glanced at her. “I got a message. Same as I got a message you were in trouble, and I’m guessin’ from the same people. If they were right about the one they’re probably right about the other.

“Don’t you have any way of findin’ out?”

“Soval will have enquiries made. But he has to be extremely careful. He is unpopular with the High Command because of his moderate views.”

A faint huff of laughter. “Time was when that’s the last thing I’d have called him – ‘moderate’.”

“Time changes all of us – and not always in ways we would expect.”

A gust of stronger wind blew in from the west, and she shivered and turned up the collar of her coat.

“You’re cold.”

She wanted to reply _You’ve been on Vulcan, you know the temperatures my species evolved to deal with_ but that would bring up too many memories, with which neither of them were probably ready to deal.

He moved to her other side, interposing his body between hers and the direction of the wind. A movement of his hand suggested he’d thought about unfastening his jacket and offering it to her, but maybe they weren’t quite ready for that either.

“You do know you can get a divorce here, whether Koss likes it or not,” he said in a voice that struggled for distance. “While you’re in California, the court has jurisdiction over you to terminate the marriage. If – if that was what you wanted, the papers could be sent to Vulcan by subspace and served on him. If he doesn’t respond after thirty days, the attorney enters a default against him.

“Then there’d be a hearing, between thirty and forty-five days later. It’s a five minute hearing or it can be done by declaration, you wouldn’t even have to show up.

“Bottom line is, no matter what he wants, he can’t stop you.” He swallowed. “If that’s what _you_ want.”

Remotely she wondered why a man born and raised in Florida should have such an intimate knowledge of the divorce laws of a state on the other side of the continent.

But there again, she probably already knew.

It’s not often that time turns back and offers you a second chance at an opportunity you spurned the first time. And when it does, it’s not – ‘logical’ – to spurn it again. Fate, however occasionally tolerant of a foolish mistake, never rewards outright stupidity.

Not that Vulcans believed in Fate, but the concept was the same...

“Then I will have to arrange for the papers to be drawn up,” she replied steadily. “There is nothing to be gained by continuing with a relationship I never wished for in the first place.”

She felt him stiffen slightly, and realized that the statement was a blade with two edges.

“I have had time to consider everything that has happened to me,” she continued, keeping her voice even. “And as I said, time changes us in ways we would never have expected.

“Sometimes the changes bring ... challenges. But changes are a part of life. We can accept them, and the challenges they bring, or we can remain static – and ultimately die.”

He was still gazing seaward. The wind ruffled his hair.

“I cannot offer any guarantees if I ... if _we_... choose to pursue a relationship. Before the Xindi attack, there might have been more hope. Now, all aliens are objects of suspicion; often, of hate. If you choose me for a mate, you will encounter resistance. I will not be accepted. _We_ will not be accepted. Even some among your own family may disown you, just as would have happened on Vulcan if I had acknowledged you there as the man I wished to marry.

“I do not wish to be the cause of you becoming a pariah among your own people, Commander.”

He turned then and looked at her. His eyes were bluer than the sea beyond him. “You think I give a single damn about anyone who doesn’t accept my wife?”

Now it was her turn to swallow. He had said...

“We live in the real world, not in a work of romantic fiction. We will encounter hostility. And as for children...”

Without her quite noticing it happening, he had come closer. His face was suddenly much nearer hers, and his eyes were on her lips. “Sure I’d like kids. An’ when the both of us are ready I’d like just fine seein’ if we could make ‘em happen.

“But in the meantime, I want something good to have come out of all of this. An’ right now, I can’t think of anything I’d like more than to make you Mrs Charles Tucker III, just as soon as you get that damned paper that says you’re a free woman again.”

His proximity was making thinking difficult. Still, she tried. “I believe a period of – of adjustment will be more advisable. We will have to determine whether we are absolutely compatible.”

“Oh, I think we already found that out.” By now his warm breath was fanning across her face. “But I’m sure ready to remind you if you’ve forgotten.”

She definitely had _not_ forgotten, despite numerous attempts to do so. The events of one particular night in the Expanse had remained lodged in her memory, and now a pool of warmth at the base of her body testified that the idea of being ‘reminded’ was almost worth the indignity of claiming (dishonestly) to require it.

His kiss was incredibly light, almost as if expecting her to draw away. Then he pulled back a little, clearly to assess whether he should proceed further.

She cleared her throat. “I believe that events in the Expanse may have had a deleterious effect on my memory,” she announced, throwing caution to the winds. “I find myself in need of a great deal of reminding.”

The smile of heart-stopping delight that came over his face said that he was more than happy to administer all the reminding she could require, and the arm that slipped around her waist said that there was no time like the present – or at least, given that they were in a public place right now, no time like whatever it would be when they reached a bedroom.

A sentiment with which she was more than happy to concur, and they turned together to walk to the accommodation block.

“I know this isn’t going to be easy,” he said as they crossed the central plaza, which was crowded with people strolling together in twos or threes just talking, or hurrying about their business. “The whole relationship thing, I mean. But we didn’t set out aboard _Enterprise_ thinkin’ it was goin’ to be all plain sailin’.

“We had setbacks, sure. But think of the discoveries we made. Think of the discoveries that are still out there.

“An’ think of the discoveries there still are. Right here.”

And right in the middle of the plaza, in full view of half of Starfleet, he pulled both of them to a halt, and kissed her.


	42. The Epilogue

_Secrecy was everything._

He had a room in his suite where he conducted his most private business. It was carefully swept every day for listening devices, but even so it was with angry trepidation that he activated his communication device.

The interview he had just terminated had been highly uncomfortable. That arrogant young man had been extremely annoyed at the way events had turned out, an annoyance that however carefully hidden had lent an edge to his voice as he disclosed that far from obtaining a wife who had been cast out of Starfleet as confidently predicted, he had now received a set of documents declaring that she intended to divorce him!

Koss’s family was absolutely incensed at the outcome. In order to placate them and him it would now be necessary to find a beautiful young woman who was actually aware of her duties and prepared to fulfill them, and preferably soon; the young man was approaching _pon farr_ and would very shortly require the services of a submissive wife. That said, hopefully next time he would have the intelligence to simply take his bride into any available room after their nuptials and establish his authority over her, which would at least leave him less of an object of covert derision.

After a few moments while the various encryption protocols activated, the screen glowed into life. He set his teeth. This interview was not going to be comfortable.

_“Well?”_

“They failed,” he ground out. “The case was dismissed.”

The heavy face on the screen showed little response, though the mailed shoulders shrugged slightly. _“It was always the probable outcome.”_

“But – Archer escaped!”

 _“You really don’t get it, do you, Administrator? Of course he escaped. But the damage has been done. Relations between the_ Thaessu _and the_ Hevam _have sustained damage.”_

He blinked. “Nothing significant.”

_“Of course not. But you should learn patience, my dear Administrator. That is how frost works – patiently. One tiny crack at a time, the water seeps in, and then it freezes. And when the dawn comes the crack is a little wider, and more water can get in._

_“Vulcan has shown itself hostile. You have attempted to damage Starfleet’s hero. That will not be forgotten or forgiven. Even if not everyone in the organization now nurtures resentment or distrust, some will. And so, the crack opens.”_

For the first time since receiving the news, he felt the first easing of apprehension. But it lasted only until Admiral Valdore leaned closer to the screen, scowling.

_“That does not mean your failure is forgotten or forgiven, Administrator. Those who serve the Empire are expected to carry out their orders._

_“We will overlook your failure – this time. But next time, we expect you to do better._

_“ **Much** better!”_

The connection closed with a click.

V’Las sat back, fighting a sudden and illogical urge to smash the device beyond repair. Then with a savage movement he rose and moved to the window, where he looked out, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the setting sun. On the horizon, the red sands of the Forge looked as though they were on fire.

Somewhere out there, sehlats were probably already fighting over the remains of two prosecutors who had outlived their usefulness and failed their government; he had no more use for failure than his masters did. 

And out there, too, were the Syrrannites. Somewhere. Hiding in their caves, mumbling their quasi-mystical nonsense, talking of the legendary _Kir’Shara_ as though it held the answer to all the problems in the world.

Well, even if it existed, it probably didn’t hold the answer to _his_ problem. Which was that Captain Jonathan Archer had once again evaded disaster, and probably had not the faintest idea that he’d slipped through the Raptor’s grasp.

 _My chance will come again, Captain,_ V’Las promised himself grimly. 

_And next time, the claws will take you._

**THE END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews make me really happy. Please leave one if you enjoyed this!


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